Letter to my Sister

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Dear Mary: Hey. I find myself thinking about you at the most inconvenient times. I can be watching tv, eating at a restaurant, or even at church and a thought of you will come from something said or seen. When I am cutting coupons out of the paper, I think of how you used to call me to let me know which grocery store had what on sale that week or if the Pizza Hut had some good coupons out. When I try a new recipe or food item, I find myself wanting to call you and let you know so you too can experience it. When Walker does something fun and/or cute, I want to share it with you. When something happens in the "family," I want to call you and us discuss it like we used to and share our thoughts and opinions about it. I look at your picture almost every day. It's still hard for me to realize that for over 44 years you were a constant in my life yet for nearly 4 weeks now you are gone. Yes, tomorrow will mark the fourth week that you left me. Ah Mary; I miss you so much. Even as I write you this letter, the tears are running down my cheeks so that I can hardly see or breathe. I know you are in a better place and I can't wait to join you and catch up. I am so thankful your pains are gone. As I read and reflected over my journal this morning, I saw the times I noted that we talked or that we visited. I am so glad I had that night with you in the hospital when you were first admitted. Nothing remarkable was said or done. We were just two sisters, sharing a room like in olden days. We'd wake up or be awakened by the nurses and chat for a moment or two. It's funny: I went there that night to be a blessing to you, to try to make you comfortable and it worked the other way: you were the big sister again and you were in charge. You made sure I had enough blankets to stay warm and offered me your food and drink. You even gave me a toothbrush that had been provided for you. Later that week when Steve and I visited you, we had another good visit. We talked about some old times as Steve asked you who was "the favorite" growing up. You insisted it was me and recalled some things I had no knowledge of. We laughed at some of the antics Frank caused and of course we talked about your grandkids and what they'd done that was funny. You let me rub your feet, feet that were so swollen and pained. For you to let me do this, they had to have been hurting a lot. And, miracle of miracles, you thanked me--in your round about way. Not directly, 'cause that just wasn't your way. Nonetheless, I was touched that for a moment I was able to bring some sort of comfort to you. The next day, you went "home." Your condition rapidly deteriorated and when I saw you on Saturday, the life was gone from you. You could barely stay awake for more than a minute or two and your words were sparse. I must admit, Mary, that I was mad at you. Others told me how you had talked with them yet with Steve and me, you made little effort. I know-- and I knew then-- that it was because you could trust us with your pain, your weakness. But I wanted more from you than you were giving. I didn't want this to be my last memory of you and I certainly didn't want to be mad about it. I wanted you to tell me that you loved me and that I'd been a good sister and that you wanted me to take care of your girls for you. I wanted you to tell me that I'd been special to you and that you appreciated me in your life--the good, the bad, and the troubled times. All of it. And there was so much of it, wasn't there, Mary? We shared some times that were filled with so many different emotions. Sometimes we hated each other; that's what sisters do. Other times, we couldn't stand it if we didn't get together often. We talked on the phone regularly. We got each other gifts at random times but rarely for birthdays. The next and last time I saw you was the night before you died. It was 4 weeks ago today. You had been moved to the Hospice facility. Your breathing was labored. Your eyes would only stay open for brief moments and the color of them had long been faded. I knew I wouldn't see you again this side of heaven and I asked you if Steve and I could pray for you, could pray with you. I'm not sure if I imagined it, if it was an involuntary reflex, or what but at one time while I prayed, you squeezed my hand. I again wanted so badly to be of some form of comfort for you. When I finished, and we were saying our goodbyes to you as a couple, I told you I'd take care of your girls for you. Steve confirmed that that time you flickered your eyes open and seemed to look grateful. I'm sorry to say that I haven't come through on that promise for you. I have tried to contact both of them but they haven't responded. I'm going to try again today because I realize that they have needed time to deal with their griefs themselves. You know how poorly our family is on communicating with one another. I'm going to try to do better with them, Mary. I am not in the least bit interested in taking your place. That would be impossible. But I am going to try to let them know I am here for them, not as your replacement but as their aunt, as your grand young'uns great aunt, and as someone who loved their Nona very much. I hope they will let me. There are so many things I miss about you Mary. I miss not being able to pick up the phone and chat with you about anything and everything and nothing. I miss sending you pictures and getting pictures from you. When I pass the Texas Roadhouse I always think of you. When we were at the beach last week, I thought of you and how much you enjoyed our last trip to the ocean when we visited with Ashley and Casey in California three years ago. I remember how you accused me of saying you were having a cow over something you did when in fact I had said something to Steve about making sure you had a clean towel. I miss going bargain shopping with you. I even miss you calling me up to rant and rave over things that had crossed you. Well, Mary, for now I am going to close. I just wanted you to know I think of you a lot and miss you so very much. I wrote a blog a while back about wondering how a world without Mary would be. I know now. It's lonely. It's sad. It's painful. I don't like it.