Poem: You Look Cute

My sister really struggled with her physical appearance.  When she was healthy, she was a gorgeous little thing (maybe I’m biased but she was very pretty).  Lupus took its toll on her, but when she received a kidney transplant her senior year of high school, she seemed to bounce back overnight.  She became popular within two seconds and was living it up.  She was just so darn cute, dressed in Abercrombie and Hollister (all very very cool back in the day).

Then, she lost the kidney.

Physically, she slowly deteriorated.  She started to look sick…this got worse and worse as more health problems manifested themselves over time, and she had a really tough time accepting that or seeing past it.  She would still buy all these cute outfits that no longer fit her body…  They just waited, hanging in her closet, for the day she would be healthy again.  These past two years, though, she had really given up.  She couldn’t see past the sick to the beautiful girl that she still was.  So, when I’d go home to visit, I would make her get out of her PJs and put on make-up to go out.  I tried to treat her like a normal sister…meaning if my mom helped do her hair and it made her look like a five-year old…I said it looked stupid and fixed it.  I wanted her so badly to feel pretty, again, to feel special…to feel normal, even if for five seconds.  It was hard, though.  Sometimes, I wished I could make myself look worse…so that she would feel better.  I think towards the end, she was starting to see herself differently.  At Christmas, she asked me to help her with her make-up (usually, I had to drag her into the bathroom).  I got hopeful that she was starting to see through the sick…

That’s a long-winded explanation for this short poem…

You Look Cute

Tick Tock

I oh-so-proudly present my first poem!

Please do not have any higher expectations for this than you would for an elementary school child who has just learned about rhyming.  I think this poem may evolve over time.  Even now, I want to re-word some pieces of it, but as it has been typed up on a real typewriter – changing it would be a pain in the butt.

It’s about the passing of time…and my hate of it, because last week was her three month death date (I will work on finding a more eloquent way to say that.)  I’m 29 years old and it hit me that there is a high likelihood that I may have more years without a sister than I did with…and I do not like this at all.  Mainly because, well, she was supposed to be around, wasn’t she?  She’s my frickin’ little sister.  We were supposed to grow old and batty together.  We were supposed to continue to fight and drive each other insane well into our old age to further prove Mom wrong (she claimed we would “grow out of fighting”).  We were supposed to have so many years left together that we could even have a huge enough fight that we didn’t speak for a few of them.  AGdfS%@#4FJ24er$(#$@#*Ufd!!!!!

Next week, my family is coming to visit to celebrate me finally finishing up grad school.  I can’t help but get semi-depressed.  This is the first family get together without her.  In my head, I can’t stop thinking of how she should be there.  Just like she should be there next year if I get married and if I have a baby.  (If you know me personally, you know these are highly unlikely events, but still – she should be around just in case.)  She’s just supposed to be there for the good and the bad, the ups and downs, and everything in-between.  But all the “supposed to” in the world, can’t bring the brat back to me.  And. I. Hate. It.

And I dread the day when I can say that I’ve had more time without her in my life than with her.

Tick Tock