sister

Feeling like an evil hero.

~ yellowlamplight ~ 1 Comment

My little sister died.

I never thought that would be a truth in my life. That I would be here without her. I knew she had cancer, but I believed every single person who told me she was going to beat it. My family, her doctor, my husband. Especially my husband. He’s my favorite person in the world and his eyes crinkle at the corners. How could I not believe him? And, it was with that confidence that I advised her throughout her cancer journey. So many phone calls and texts and visits. Yesterday, on her birthday, I wanted to get back to what we said to each other last year on that same day. So, I scrolled through our texts. It took me two hours to get back to last year.

“Should I pay this bill or buy myself some new sheets? They are my favorite color.” “Buy the sheets!” I would reply. “I have this weird pain in my side. Should I call my doctor or give it until morning?” she would ask. “Do you have a fever? Did they mention weird side pain as a possible side effect? What is your gut telling you? If it’s not setting off alarm bells wait until morning. That is what I would do. We don’t want your doctor to hate you. It’s 3 a.m.” I would answer. “Do you think it’s ok if I skip Christmas this year? I promise I’ll do it big next year.” “Of course it’s ok! You can do whatever you need to do to get through this! There’s no right or wrong way to survive. By the way, I sent the sheets.” And so it went for that year and the one before it. My little sister asking me for advice and me giving it. Giving it because I loved her and I didn’t want her to have to decide anything. I could not take the cancer, but I could handle the decisions. Make her non-responsible for any wrong choice. The first sheets were awful and she hated them, but it was ok because I sent them. She hated the tea kettle too and the over night bag. I fixed it all. More than once she said to me, “I don’t know how I could get through this without you.” And I answered, arrogantly, “You don’t have to.”

The Bible says pride goes before a fall. My God is that true.

When the day came that she called me and said she was scared to go into the hospital I handled it with my much called-upon confidence. “Don’t be scared,” I told her. “It’s really not that bad. They bring your food to you and you can push a button and someone will be right there. And they give you warm blankets when you feel crappy. Staying in the hospital will be the least awful part of this whole awful experience. It’s kind of like having parents again. I’ve done it lots of times. It will be fine.” And, she believed me.

Even worse? I believed me. I actually let my guard down. I got her checked in. I went down and bought her a stuffed Eeyore because that is what big sisters do for little sisters. I went back to her room the three extra times for hugs that she requested and I left her there. Alone. Worse? I relaxed a little. There were trained professionals on watch. I could afford to nap on the way back to Texas. I could play my music while I slept. I could not take my phone in the bathroom with me in case she called. I started to really believe my crinkly-eyed husband.

And then, my phone rang. I had just talked to her that morning, so I expected a question or a funny story. “I turned my tv up and can’t turn it down and it’s on Judge Judy.” “Someone just asked me if being bald is fun?” “Can we go to Salem next year for Halloween?” “Gross, good grief, and yes!!! Let’s!” is how I would have responded.

Instead, it was a nurse telling me my little sister, who believed me when I said being in the hospital was going to be ok, had fallen. Fallen and developed a brain bleed and a neurosurgeon would be calling. After that, it was a rushed trip back from Texas and three long days in the hospital. It was Eeyore coming home with me and a funeral where people took home Halloween decorations and pie. And now? Now it is just life without her. Which is infinitely less interesting and fun. And, forever, heart breaking.

And, it’s me. The resident evil hero that gave bad advice. The worst advice. I should have told her to never trust anyone in a hospital. To keep her wits about her at all times. To call me every five minutes to keep me apprised of what was happening. Mostly, I shouldn’t have left her. Ever. I should have just climbed in her bed and lived the entire experience with her. She could have called me from the next pillow. “You’re snoring and I really need my rest for tomorrow.” “Do you think I could have the better pillow tomorrow night and the first shower?” “You’re drooling on Eeyore and he was supposed to be mine.” We would have worked it out. We’re sisters. Were sisters. How is this real?

So, yeah, I’m having a hard time. A few things are keeping my head above water. First, I’m out of the advice business. At least important advice. I think I would still tell you if your outfit is ugly, but maybe not. Maybe I’d let you rock those stripes and plaid. I sleep with a stuffed Eeyore and might from now on. My sweet husband understands and so should you. And, yesterday, when I searched through those text messages to see what I said to my sister last year on her birthday I didn’t find any. Instead, I found a couple of photos of Halloween decorations and fish planks. That was because she was here. We spent her last birthday together. I spoiled her rotten. Bought her everything she asked for, took her to her favorite place for lunch and made sure she knew her big sister was on watch. That I could steal her birthday from cancer and give it back to her like it had always been. Her and me having fun.

Thank God for that.

Chocolate dream whip and an old song.

~ yellowlamplight ~ 3 Comments

I’ve written before that I think songs can be little bridges to the past. To a time you would give anything to go back to. It’s why I have spent this afternoon scouring the internet for a particular song. It had something to do with a horse that was going faster and faster. I want to listen to it.

I want to listen to it and I want to close my eyes and I want to be a little girl again with my kid sister.

Especially on one particular day.

It was winter time and when I looked out the back door that morning it was nothing but white and dripping water. Muddy puddles and cold. I did not want to go to school. I did not want to stay home with nobody to play with. So, I went back and crawled into the bed I shared with my little sister.

“Let’s talk mom into letting us stay home today.”

Thirty minutes later, we were both in the living room still wearing our nightgowns, with our noses pressed against the cold picture window, watching our older siblings get on a bus for school. It hadn’t even been hard. My older sister was glad not to have to get us dressed, my dad was already gone to work and my mother was still in bed that morning. It was not a good day for her.

Suddenly, there we were, two little girls with a whole day stretching in front of us. No school. Nobody bigger than us.We watched cartoons. We played with Raggedy Ann. I read her some books. We laughed just because it was funny that we had accomplished this big thing. Things were great until we got hungry.

Our refrigerator was completely empty. Nothing. No crackers. No leftovers. Nothing. Barely any milk. Not enough for both of us to have cereal. In that moment, I did what probably any kid would have done. I climbed on top of the counter and started looking in the higher cabinets for food the grownups might have put out of our reach. I found some things that could have been cooked, but I was not allowed to use the stove. Ever. No macaroni and cheese for us. I put the blue box back and and kept looking.

Finally, when no other cabinets gave up any treasures, I stood with one foot balanced on the cool metal of the drawer handle and one foot wedged against the wall and reached the little cabinet above the ice box. A box of dream whip. And, as a bonus, it was chocolate. Chocolate dream whip and nobody to tell us we couldn’t have it. I jumped down and showed it my little sister and we danced around our kitchen with it held over our heads like a prize.

Next I climbed back up on the counter and got down my mother’s big yellow mixing bowl. The one we weren’t supposed to touch. I ripped open the white package and dumped the powder into the big bowl. Bits of chocolate dust floated to the end of my tongue. I got the milk out and poured the last of it into the bowl. It didn’t look like enough so I added a little water. Then I got the whisk my mom used on potatoes and went to work. I’m sure it would have been a five minute job if we had used a mixer, but two little girls and a whisk took a minute. But finally we had a bowl of what closely resembled chocolate dream whip.

I gave my sister the two biggest spoons in the drawer and I wrapped my arms around the yellow bowl, held it as tight as I could and walked to the table. We sat there for a while. Both of us eating out of the bowl. Scraping down the sides for the parts that had turned kind of crunchy. Clicking our spoons together to hear the sound.

Outside, it continued to drizzle. Inside, I was still so happy to not be in school

When we were done, we went back in the living room but there was nothing on TV but soap operas. We hated soap operas. My families record player set in the corner with the top open.

“Let’s listen to records!”

I grabbed the one on top and put it on the record player. When I turned on the power it started to wobble. We needed the little yellow thing to go in the middle. We popped it in and started up the record player again. It was that song I have spent this whole day looking for. That crazy song about a horse going faster and faster. We danced around the living room holding up our nightgowns and laughing. And then I asked my little sister if she wanted it to go faster.

“Yes!” she giggled back.

I went back to the record player and pushed the lever to speed it up. That was the funniest thing we had ever heard. The voice sounded crazy. We danced even faster. We started holding hands and spinning. We needed it to be louder. I turned it up and up until it was as loud as it would go. And we danced in a circle with our hair flying out behind of us. Long strands unbrushed and wild. One blonde and one with flashes of red. Both of us yelling with joy and a massive sugar hit. Both of us happy. We were like that when our mother suddenly appeared in the living room door.

“What on earth is going on in this house? Why aren’t you girls at school?”

I picked that moment to fall down and pull my little sister down with me. We landed with her on top of me and I looked up at her face smeared with chocolate and smelled the sweetness and let out another trumpet yell of happiness. It was one of the very best moments of my young life.

And yes, I want to go back there. To that moment. To those little girls.

I want to wrap my arms around my little sister and tell her I love her and that I will always, always protect her. That I will hold her hand when Santa Claus scares her. That I will never be mean to her when I am in High School and think I’m really cool. That I will insist she goes on every vacation I ever take. I will tell her I do not want to see sunsets in Florida without her. I will whisper in her ear that when we are almost old women I will take her cancer diagnosis from her and make it mine. Every appointment, every chemical, every poke. I will stand between her and what’s coming and I will let nothing through.

But, I can’t. I can’t do any of it.

I can only remember and search feverishly for a song that will serve as a bridge back to that moment. Wish that my husband could drive me to that time. Search the internet for images of dream whip and wonder if my sister would like it if I sent a box. Wonder if they even still make it. Cast about for a way to create another day like that for us. Warm, joyful, chocolate safety. Free of cancer and worry.

Oh that I could.

I would.