(Photo by Pamela Harris, Carol Bove sculpture)

Kindness is underrated.

Some time ago a close friend ask me to be their power of attorney. Their parents were grateful I was asked and not them. My friend’s siblings were angry about it.

The siblings began sending me emails that turned abusive, threatening and at times incoherent. They made demands that bordered on ridiculous. In time their emails and behavior spiraled into rage feathered in paranoia. It was unsettling. I couldn’t roll it off.

Bullies can be bullies because they’re afraid. I grew up with this crap. An out of control sister who was a compulsive liar, and a mother who believed anything my sister said or took no action when my sister turned violent. I was the black sheep. To them, I deserved it.

With my close friend’s siblings, I tried to put myself in their world to comprehend why they acted the way they did. It never made sense. It’s easier to feel rage over grief, so maybe it was this. Rage gets my blood going. Grief slows it down and forces me to feel. I finally confronted the siblings. Our relationship deteriorated.

My close friend witnessed all of it and was furious at their siblings. Yet my friend needed their siblings and couldn’t walk away. Last week I helped my friend liquidate a large part of their estate. Except for some basic clean up, I’ll no longer have to have any contact with their family.

This year I had to deal with the shock of my close friend getting sick and deteriorating; my dog dying; selling my house upstate; having a project package then fall apart, and more. Yet dealing with these siblings was the hardest of all of it. I kept trying to make sense of them, to not take them personally. I tried to deal with them logically, explain my choices, include them in the process. They responded with threats. I went through periods where all I felt was hate, loathing, more hate, resentment. I felt fear, panic, grief, more grief, and a rage that at times had me shaking. When I was at the house I’d go down into the basement and scream myself hoarse.

My friend Patty described these periods in life as poorly wrapped gifts. She was right. Dealing with those twunts meant I had to look at my own history of when I’ve kept silent, waved cruel behavior off, or acted poorly. The siblings latest round of emails were sent to someone else and were a blend of threats and lies. The recipient of those emails forwarded them to me. I had to look at why it bothered me so much when someone lied about me to others. On some level I thought everyone would believe them. But not a single person did. This is an example of a poorly wrapped gift. I shook an old belief off.

This year my friends showed up in every way. What came up this week was the realization that I am loved. Knowing this has been the best poorly wrapped gift of all.

When I was packing up my house, things I've carted around with me for decades no longer meant as much. I gave them away. Things that seemed important felt less so. In 2024, what mattered the most to me was love. It’s that hard, it’s that simple.

May 2025 bring you a poorly wrapped gift. And may it come in a sturdy box you can stomp the crap out of if needed.