In memory of my sister who died of metastatic breast cancer January 20, 2010

“There is someone watching your footsteps, Turn around, look at me “

There was one thing that my sister really, really took great pride in…and that was: The appearance of her feet. And so, she would regularly go for professional pedicures. Although she was a hard worker, this was one indulgence that she always seemed to allow for herself. Manicures? Well yes, she would occasionally have one; but to tell the truth, she could either take ‘em or leave ‘em.

One day, a friend claiming expertise in nail care came into her hospital room and offered to give her a manicure. This friend came in and proceeded to clip her nails; almost pinching the skin several times. Then, to make matters worse, she polished them in a particularly horrendous shade of dull red. Afterwards, my sister took one look at her hands, paused, and said to her friend in a trembling, weak voice, “You’re fired!” As I recall this, I can hardly keep from laughing.

However one would never,ever find her walking out of the door in opened toed shoes without an outrageously shocking hint of color peeking out. Even during the dead of winter, whenever she would take off her boots and thermal socks; you could pretty much count on seeing some dazzling, electric shade of lacquer adorning those toes. I always admired her for this. You see, she had beautiful feet. (Mine, on the other hand, look as if I have been working out in the cornfields all day long.)

“Look at someone (look at someone) Who really loves you, yeah, really loves you”

Prior to being admitted to the hospital, she had her famous toes professionally painted up in a most glorious shade of melon; a sort of luminous, pinkish orange color. As she lay in her hospital bed, with pressure cuffs wrapped around her swollen legs, I would often look at those toes and smile. We would often laugh and talk about how much her feet resembled “little piggies”.

The one thing that I will never forget: Throughout her whole ordeal, the color on those toes remained defiantly vibrant. As she trembled, convulsed, and ached, those fabulous toes continued to shine; a silent testimony as to the strength and humor of the one they were attached to.

On that last day of her life, just before I walked out of the room; and just moments before the crematorium personnel came in, covered her up from head to toe in a dark heavy plaid quilt and took her out on a gurney, I turned around and looked at those toes for one last time.

“Turn around, (turn around), look at me, (look at me,) Understand,understand,”

Still gloriously pink! Still fantabulously shiny!
They sure looked nice. Even in death, the woman was extraordinary!

Landmines and Boobytraps.

Never really had much use for either of those words; except perhaps during that rare, once-in-a-decade discussion that occasionally popped up dealing with war and strategy. I really hadn’t any use for those words…that is; until after my sister died. The road on which I walk now is fraught with tons of each. I now find myself in the position of never knowing what smell, sound or song will be the one that will catch me off guard; sending me running to nearest restroom to have a mini-breakdown. I never know… Kleenex is now in my purse at all times; because …, I just never know.

“Shadows in purple thrill me
I cry myself awake each night”

Last night (Sunday, June 13,2010) my husband and I had my parents over for dinner and a movie. We had a chance to sit and talk. I cooked and made preparations as music played in the background. Usually, during these family dinners, my sister would be working side-by-side with me…helping. On this night, she was not with me. It all felt strange. My husband had selected a jazz album by the group “Fourplay”. There is this one track on it, “My Love’s Leavin’” that seemed to just suddenly jump out and grab me by the throat . There was no warning. As Michael McDonald sang out the painful words, I ran out of the room. But before I did , I begged my husband to “please, change the song!” “Please change it now!” I ran upstairs and managed to get myself together; coming back down in less than five minutes. The moment I returned, I apologized to everyone and told them that I thought I could listen to the CD, but it’s just “that song”. I just can’t listen to “that song!” Mom looked me straight in the eye and quietly whispered, “I understand, Lord knows I understand”. Daddy ? Well he just sat…and stared straight ahead. You never know.

“I can’t believe that it’s true
Here I am, where are you?”

Then…there was the movie, “Everybody’s Fine” with Robert DeNiro. Mom cried throughout the first ten minutes of it. My husband asked if we needed to stop looking at it; but she said that she still wanted to see it. It took a while before we all felt comfortable enough , but we did finish. I refused to cry this time around; as I already had made an ass of myself earlier. Truth be told: It was actually a good movie. But, you never know.

Wasn’t too long before it was time to pack up food for them to take home and kiss them goodnight. Mom has a difficult driving in the dark, so she was a bit nervous. My husband and I have decided that the next time, we will pick them up and drive them back ourselves. As they left to go home, the sky had had just enough light left; so that they would not have to drive home in pitch black. I looked up into that sky and saw something just awesomely phenomenal.

“Shadows in purple thrill me”

My husband was standing on the stoop next to me; yet I was unable to speak to him until after it passed over. I told him what I saw; and he smiled. Having Mom and Dad over for dinner and a movie was a good thing. A very good thing. I know that you are wondering: Just what was it that I saw? That, I’m afraid, is personal. You’ll never know .

‘sides…you’d never believe me if I told you.

“But I’ll control my feelings,I find faith, healing; and I’ll find hope singing”
“The way is so long. But I’m going to be strong”

We are going to be alright.

This is the hospital room where my sister died. She died on a Wednesday. The photo was taken just days before. I knew that one day I would need this. And I was right. I need it today.

Although still in the same room where she had initially been admitted; this time she was now under hospice care. This meant that there would be no heroic efforts made to save her life. She was simply to be kept as comfortable as possible. No food. No water. Just quietly and humanely waiting for the inevitable.

“I think I’ve already lost you…I think you’re already gone“

Tonight was my night to stay with her. I maintained vigil in her hospital room; sitting in a semi-comfortable bedside chair. This was to be the last night of her life. This was our last “sleepover”. My back was turned to the open door as moonlight streamed into her darkened room from the window directly in front of me. The shadows of nurses and doctors danced in and and out as they walked behind me in the lighted hallway. Sometimes they would stop to listen, as I softly sang to her, prayed for her, and cried for her. I also cried for me.

I never turned around to acknowledge their presence, and so within moments, they would continue walking. All the while, my sister’s eyes remained half open; their whites a deep golden shade of yellow, her pupils staring vacantly out into space.

By this time, she had long since stopped communicating verbally. The medical/hospice professionals had mentioned to us that “the hearing will be the last to go” And so, whenever she thrashed around in pain, with tears streaming down my face, I would beg her to leave…“Please go,“ I would plead, “we’ll be alright!” When the thrashing finally subsided and she lay in relative peace, I would then change my mind and beg her to stay. This begging and pleading for her to stay…then go, went on all night long. I didn’t know what I wanted. Worse still, I didn’t know what she wanted.

At one point during the night, I placed one of my wrists into one of her withered and chemotherapy darkened clenched hands. “They tell me you can’t communicate with me”, I sobbed, “but I know that you are in there somewhere! I just know it!” “Please do something to let me know you’re still here!“ It was then, while still maintaining her vacant gaze, that she lifted my wrist up to her face. And when she no longer had the strength to hold on to it any longer, she let it go. It was all she had left in her power to do; her final gift to me. Acknowledgement. Recognition. I drew her hands back up to my face. My knees buckled as I slid out of my chair, falling onto them; onto the cold, hard linoleum floor … weeping as quietly as I could . In time, those knees began to hurt, but my heart hurt even more.

“there’s an awful lot of breathing room – but I can hardly move”

In that moment, I had no way of knowing that she would die the next day. But within that same moment, there was one thing I did know: As I reflected on her life, and the gracious, generous, loving way she lived it, I began to reason: The only thing worse than not giving enough, is giving too much. During a lifetime, in a valiant attempt to try and make everyone happy, she gave too much. Far too much. I have no plans to follow her lead.

Sure, I’ll be gracious, generous and loving…but I’ll be damned if I surrender it ALL !

“I think I’m finally scared now…you think I’m weak, I think you’re wrong”

Here is where it stops.