One year ago today, I sent: “She’s in room 257” in a text message to my mom after arriving at the hospital with my boyfriend.
Nine days later, my sister died.
My mom wishes she had those nine days back. Even though my sister was kept in a sedated coma for the majority of it…and even when she was awake, she had a tube down her throat, was attached to a kazillion machines, but she was there – she was acting like herself to the utter amazement of the doctors and nurses. To us – this was par for the course.
I remember when I first arrived at the hospital and my boyfriend and I were in the visitor’s lounge, waiting for a doctor. Finally, he came out to talk to us. And, at the end of our brief conversation, when I didn’t cry or break down…he looked at me and said: You know this is serious, don’t you? And I stared back and responded: Do you know how many times my family’s done this?
A few days later, she was improving. We started preparing for her recovery and rehab. So, my mom wants those days back – the last ones. Because, we didn’t treat it like the end but another beginning of treatments and medicine.
About a month ago, my dad asked me if I believe in any sort of afterlife. I told him that I don’t have any strong opinions or beliefs – just hope. Hope for my sister’s sake that there is one…that she gets to experience something other than the crap she had down here. But, I don’t ascribe to any religion…
I’m jealous of people who do, though. Friday, I went home to attend a funeral of a school friend’s older brother. I wasn’t particularly close to him or his family, but I had known them as long as I can remember. The funeral was at a church and part of the priest’s sermon was actually about how God “gives his ear” to those who have gone through something tragic when they pray for someone else who is going through a similar tragedy – seems there’s some sort of ranking system with prayers that I didn’t learn in church class…ha. But I did attend the funeral just for that reason: I’ve gone through it and now someone I know has to deal with losing his sibling. I have no answers, but at least I’ve survived a year of this…that must say something. And, it is strange, because at the funeral…I didn’t cry for my friend’s brother or my sister. When I cried, it was for my friend – for the fact that someone else has to deal with losing a sibling way before they should.
I wish I had answers for him, but when we hugged and he asked what helped…all I could say was, “Nothing.”
Afterwards, I thought that was the wrong thing to say…but honestly, I don’t know that anything has helped me. It’s like losing a limb or going deaf or blind maybe…you can figure out how to get around, to get by without it…but you’re irrevocably different. I don’t have a magic cure…there’s definitely nothing I can say to make it better. And, I don’t have faith. My friend does.
For someone who claimed she was going to attempt positivity in her last post, I’m not doing a very good job, am I?
Well, I am trying. Next week, I’m going to the ocean, to the beach. I had an airline voucher and decided that for the anniversary of her death, I would do something that she liked and wished she could have done more often. Go to California.
The honest truth is I have no clue how I’ll be next week. Ni idea. I wanted to attempt to do something in honor of her…maybe, I’ll be fine – maybe, I’ll be crying buckets. Either way, at least I’ll be doing it at a beach! That’s got to make it a little better, right?