I really thought that the visit with my sister last weekend was going to be great. After all, I’ve fixed what I considered to be one of her major grievances with me: I went and got myself all medicated so I wouldn’t be so shy / withdrawn.

So I made the 3-hour (more or less) drive to her house, and find, to my relief, that her husband is gone for the weekend.

I do not mention my relief at her husband being gone, because I am certain that if I had mentioned it, she would have taken offense. Still, I can’t help being relieved. I know for sure he would have been cracking jokes about my "happy pills" and asking if I’m still a virgin.

Although, to be honest, part of me was looking forward to letting it slip that I’m not a virgin anymore. Also, that same part of me would have given itself license to be creative with my description of Bertha.

And here’s the thing: he shouldn’t have even known I was a virgin. It’s not like I told my sister she could go sharing that information with people. I don’t care if he’s her husband; that’s not information you share.

I’m getting off track here.

Everything was going OK with my sister. I made a point of being jokey and rambunctious with the kids (something I have never done before, and which may have terrified my sister a little). I told funny anecdotes about Mary, Bertha, and Richard. I told her that Jane and I are seeing each other, and that I am doing well in a racquetball tournament (by doing well, I mean that I have signed up, but I didn’t tell my sister that).

After the kids were in bed, we talked a while and I said, without really thinking why, "I miss mom."

OK, that’s not completely true. I knew where this remark would head, but I’ve never had the courage to go down this path until now. Anyway, my sister said, sarcastically, "So go see her."

I kept the high road. "No, cemeteries creep me out. I’d rather remember her the way she was."

And that’s when my sister flipped out.

"I cannot believe you are still pretending she’s dead, Harlan!" she screamed. And I’m being totally literal about saying "she screamed." It was incredibly loud and high-pitched. It gave me an instant headache, and it engaged my fight-or-flight impulse.

I tried to stay calm. For both of us.

"If she’s alive, how come neither of us has seen her in ten years? How come there’s a headstone with her name on it in [name of town where my mom’s buried]. How come she had a funeral which you still feel guilty about for not attending?"

Seriously, my sister should be the one taking meds, not me. But she screeched back (and I’m being literal about the screeching, too), "There was no funeral! You went to a funeral for another woman of the same name. They made you leave. That headstone is not our mother’s."

In my sister’s defense (although she is insane and wrong), we do have a common last name, and my mother had a common first name. But that was my mother’s funeral, and that is her gravesite. "When’s the last time you saw her?" I asked. My trump card.

"Just because she doesn’t stay in touch doesn’t mean she’s dead!" My sister replied, hysterical.

"Yeah, she’s just kind of too busy to let us know where she’s living, what her phone number is, or anything else." I shouldn’t have been sarcastic, because my sister is clearly not stable. But it’s not like she had been being sunshine and roses to me, either.

"Maybe she just doesn’t want to see you."

That was enough. I went up to the guest bedroom, grabbed my duffel, and got out. I went home, though not directly. First I stopped at the cemetery and paid my respects. Definitely my mom.

I have no idea how to get my sister the help she needs. Not that she’d ever accept it from me.