Stars…

This day, I hate this day. “Hate,” a strong word. Yes. It’s also one I try incredibly hard to avoid using. I think I’ve even written about that before in previous blog posts, but I have neither the patience nor the inclination to go back and check right now. Sorry. My feelings today aren’t because I’m superstitious; it’s nothing about the number 13 or anything like that. Six years ago to this very day, my older sister, first friend, an immensely important, pivotal person of extraordinary strength in my orbit left this earth. I might not know much, but I do know for an absolute fact that I’ve written about her, and probably this same day in many many posts before. Nevertheless she was and is, nothing if not worthy of many, many retellings!

It was around 1:30 in the morning when my nephew, my Sister’s eldest son, called me to relay that she had just passed; he was on his way back to the nursing home where she was receiving hospice care, and asked if I didn’t want to come? We had all been there the night before, exchanging knowing glances, while we shared and expressed our love for her…holding on to the Wife, Mother, Grandmother, Sister, Aunt and Mother-in-Law, the special someone we each knew was soon to leave us. Em (my daughter, her Goddaughter) and Gaga (her youngest son, my Godson) were the last ones to leave the night before, sometime right before midnight. I had returned an hour or so earlier to my little cottage at The Inn in Rancho Santa Fe, which had been serving as an interim, second home for my crew over the past two and a half months. Tucked tightly in bed, but not able to fall deeply asleep and dreading what was sure to happen in the next couple days, I couldn’t stop tossing, turning and feeling that anxious gnaw in the pit of my stomach which I had felt before. But it wasn’t days that ended up being the subject of what I feared…rather just hours. Somewhat groggily, I answered my cell and mumbled to my nephew… “I can’t, I’m not dressed, and I don’t want to keep you.” “No, Missy, get up, throw on something and we’ll be there in five minutes to get you. You will regret not doing this if you don’t get up and do what I’m telling you…now!” With zero doubt in any person’s mind who’s ever met him, my Nephew inherited my Sister’s strong (“Fort Knox” type) constitution, so I did exactly as he directed. He was right. I never would have never forgiven myself if I wasn’t there for that last visit. My life has seen tremendous loss, including earlier that very year when our Mom, as well as my Stepfather George left this earthly world. My Dad had passed years before, as had each of my Grandparents, numerous Aunts, Uncles, several friends, and even a past love. This time was different. I wasn’t given or didn’t possess the same access in those previous cases, and I didn’t watch the confusingly abrupt, but painfully slow process of human erosion that Cancer can create. Nothing could have prepared me for that experience, but I will always be grateful for the time we shared in those last couple months together. There was this unexpected surge of peace I felt. And I wonder if it was due to the closure that living through those last months with her provided, or if because it was then I newly recognized something about my Sister, which had escaped my attention before?

Being six years younger than my older Sister, and with the divisive dynamic that seemed to permeate my family of origin following my parent’s divorce, my memories are vivid, but with substantial gaps of time and an absence of knowledge regarding certain interactions and patterns of behavior. Those punctuation marks and points of omission became symbolic of a big wooden spoon, stirring the boiling cauldron of “mess” that was our life. A six-year age difference between 12- and 18-year old siblings represents a huge gulf of separation in experience but is in stark contrast to the deepened bond created between a 29-year old, first-time mother who takes great comfort from her 35-year old sister, already a mother to three. That reality was ours, and was a unique ride which endured, survived, and ultimately thrived despite a complex series of ups and downs over our first years together, through the time I became a mother, and for the remainder of our 25-year relationship which followed.

Six days after her passing, we, my Sister’s family of 8 and my little tribe of 4, honored her passing with a formal Catholic Mass and the “wake” which followed, per her request. As I watched the throngs of people entering Nativity Catholic Church, filling the middle section of the church’s three wings, I was in silent awe of the respect that was on display that Friday morning.

THE STREAM OF GOLDEN STARS SUSPENDED ABOVE THE SANCTUARY & ALTAR PROVIDED SUCH A FITTING SYMBOLISM FOR THE CEREMONY, TRADITION AND SOUL BEING CELEBRATED THAT DAY. STARS WERE ALWAYS MY SISTER’S THING!

We originally planned to hold the service in Nativity’s side Chapel, where my Maternal Grandmother had been eulogized and interred, my youngest Nephew/Godson was Baptized, as was my own Daughter, “just” 25 years before. The Chapel was significantly smaller than Nativity’s “Nave,” but we all thought it would be more appropriate as a fairly intimate and smallish gathering was expected. Not quite 48 hours prior to Friday’s funeral Mass, it had become very apparent from the vast amount of calls, notes, emails and texts received, that Nativity’s side Chapel couldn’t begin to accommodate the amount of people wishing to honor my Sister. Mercifully, Nativity’s kind Monsignor and Pastor of the Church at the time, graciously offered that it would be his privilege to say the Mass in the main sanctuary. The Mass was said, eulogies given, respect paid, and the service ended with my Sister’s, as well as her hero and our Grandfather’s, favorite song, “My Way,” by Frank Sinatra filling the huge expanse of space between the altar, vestibule and walled courtyard beyond. Stepping aside for a moment to catch my breath and truly soak up the reverence I could feel in the air, it was impossible not to notice the wide array of individuals who were assembled. There was the exchange of greetings, trading of embraces, sharing of stories, smiles, tears and plenty of hankies…thanks to the collection left me by my Grandmother who was also there, if not exactly literally, at the very least spiritually that day. I saw people from our childhood, people from horseshows, people from her profession, people I neither recognized or knew, and even people I knew were not particular favorites or well thought of by my Sister. The only common thread I could manage to identify and weave between the enormous crowd which had congregated, was that every person in attendance, however close to or removed from favor, had in some irreplaceable way, at some juncture of time, been “touched” by my Sister’s presence on earth.

It would be disingenuous if I were to say my Sister was some type of saintly person; she wasn’t. She was strong, tenacious, fierce, even ruthless at times, but if you were one of “her people,” there was no more loyal advocate or watchful “pitbull” (said with much love) one could hope to find and/or have in your corner. She favored hard, and she favored openly; that was not always an easy trait to live with nor watch, but undeniably true.

She was completely transparent, and today, that just might be one of the top three qualities I miss the most about her…as well as in the world. We shared plenty of rocky times, and she wasn’t always the easiest person to get along with, but then neither am I. Maybe, that’s why at the end, we had each other? We each knew the other’s strengths, flaws, pasts, presents, and, definitely, which buttons to push. Most importantly though, at the end of the day, and the final end, we had each other’s backs.

The Sunday in June, when I arrived at my Sister’s Rancho Santa Fe house for dinner before heading to The Inn and getting settled, so as to be present for emotional support, as she prepped for what was fast becoming an urgent Kidney surgery the following Wednesday, I was suddenly and completely unprepared, almost to the point of shock, for what was right in front of me. Albeit, incredibly thin for years, she was far past that now. This wasn’t thin; this was weak, frail, gaunt and almost paralyzed with pain. Her beloved “Captain Adorable” (aka, the precious being now known as BAM) was “in the house” and potentially the only thing which could prompt even a slight hint of a smile, from her otherwise devastatingly dismal state of being. Her pain was so debilitating, she was being wheeled around the main level of their two-story home on a wheeled, leather, office chair with arm rests. I was afraid, and didn’t dare to ask by what means she was getting up and down the staircase to the master bedroom? My brother-in-law, as well as my eldest nephew, his wife, my youngest nephew and 3-yr old BAM were all present, but an air of tension, secrecy and forced “gaiety” filled the house. It was beyond unsettling. No-one seemed willing to discuss the “enormous elephant in the room?” By the time 8:30 appeared on the clock, my Sister was visibly worn-out, making an attempt to save face but in far more obvious discomfort than before. I took my nephews aside and pleaded with them that something had to be done…immediately? This wasn’t a “wait-til-Wednesday surgery” thing any longer. My oldest nephew’s wife weighed in, and finally it was decided that we would take her to the Emergency Room at once. The rest of that evening went from bad to worse, and by 5:30 the next morning, the E.R. was but a memory. My Sister had been admitted as a Critical Care Patient on the Oncology floor. Thank God for IV drips and Morphine, because that and the resulting fact that she could no longer walk… literally, was the only thing keeping her stationary. Any situation where she was not in total control was without exception, unacceptable, but that was precisely where we were. That first night, there were either three or four of us present with her at all times, unless she was being wheeled on a gurney to CT Scans, MRI’s and the like. I only left her room to check on sweet Macy Gray, my “shotgun rider” for the trip, who was in my car, parked down below on the Emergency level parking lot. Both Macy Gray and Stella took turns escorting me when I was on the road; it just felt safer traveling with one of them present, and because they were both Certified Service Dogs, they were not just impeccably trained and well-behaved, but allowed access to any public place with no questions asked. On one of my “Macy checks/potty breaks,” I called Em, who was back home at Rancho Valiente tasked with keeping everything there running smoothly. By then, the E.R. doctor had insisted, with God’s grace, that he run all new tests, because what Viv was saying and her medical profile in the hospital’s data base, was not “in sync” with what we could all see presenting itself that night. The results were not good. If there was something wrong with her Kidneys, it was of little consequence any longer…not when considering the grave diagnosis of advanced Lung Cancer, which was rapidly metastasizing throughout her body and had encapsulated her spine. When I heard Em’s voice pick up on the other end of the line, all I could do was start weeping and ask if she could please get in the car and get down there as quickly as possible? Once again, and thankfully, Em came through; by 7:45 Monday morning Emily was there, texting me from the parking lot to meet her in the lobby. That was Monday, June 27th and 7 short weeks later, on Saturday, August 13th, my Sister/my Friend was gone.

“Thank You For Being A Friend”…theme song from the show, Golden Girls, by Andrew Gold. Quite the Anthem, and so worth listening to, while reading.
Thank you for being a friend
Traveled down a road and back again
Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant
I'm not ashamed to say
I hope it always will stay this way
My hat is off, won't you stand up and take a bow
And if you threw a party
Invited everyone you knew
Well, you would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say
Thank you for being a friend
Thank you for being a friend
Thank you for being a friend
Thank you for being a friend
If it's a car you lack
I'd surely buy you a Cadillac
Whatever you need, any time of the day or night
I'm not ashamed to say
I hope it always will stay this way
My hat is off, won't you stand up and take a bow
And when we both get older
With walking canes and hair of gray
Have no fear, even though it's hard to hear
I will stand real close and say
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Let me tell you 'bout a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
And when we die and float away
Into the night, the Milky Way
You'll hear me call as we ascend
I'll see you there, then once again
*Thank you for being a*
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend
People, let me tell you 'bout a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you)
Thank you for being a friend
Whoa, tell you 'bout a friend (let me thank you right now for being a friend)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna tell you 'bout a pal and I'll tell you again)
Thank you for being a friend (I wanna thank you, thank you)
Thank you for being a friend

Throughout those painfully brief weeks, I had the great good fortune of spending a lot of time with her and will never forget the several nights spent in her hospital room, just the two of us…well that is with constant nurse appearances, “vital” checks, monitors beeping, IV changes and such, but eventually all that noise just becomes background. Golden Girls, Murder She Wrote and any old movies she loved like, The Trouble With Angels, Gidget(s) and The Parent Trap we watched and they helped to fill some horribly foggy, challenging and pain-filled visits; we also reminisced plenty about treasured memories, and it was a time that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. She loved when I brought Stella with me (Macy Gray was a bit much for “Wyan” as the “Captain” would explain) and it’s so true; the very real therapy that Service Dogs provide should never be taken lightly. We talked for hours…sometimes lucid conversations and other times not so much. If I didn’t know it beforehand, our visits confirmed with 100% certainty that she was absolutely comfortable in her own skin; she knew exactly who she was, what she wanted, as well as who and what was important to her. She didn’t require a lot of people in her life, but the ones she chose… like my brother-in-law, her boys, and her “Captain Adorable” were irreplaceable. Nevertheless, all the same and all told, she never walked or went home again.

Closure…we don’t always get it, at least maybe not in the way we need or want? I feel like I got that closure with my Sister, and I feel blessed. I had never heard of the poem above until I watched Bob Dole’s funeral service on the news when “The Dash” was very poignantly recited. It hit me…hit me hard, and it’s getting to me all over again, right now as I write this. What’s going to be said about my “dash,” if anything? I have no expectation of receiving the same generous, kind of turn-out that my Sister, very deservingly, got. I’m still not exactly sure of who I am? Oh I know a great deal more about myself today than I did six years ago, but I’m pretty sure there’s still a hell of a lot for me to figure out. And as usual, I’m late. I better get to it. Get busy figuring this s*** out. Maybe I am getting better at the discovery process, but I’m just months away from the age my Sister was when she left this world, and I’m well aware that I am nowhere close to knowing what she did, or as at peace with what little I do know?

So with all of that said, here are a couple things I do know. I know now… that like my wise Sister, I don’t NEED that many people in my life; a couple good ones that can be counted on works just fine for me. I know that we get to choose the type of people we want to be. Who we are is not up to anyone else; it’s up to us. I know that no relationship has much chance of surviving if one person is always the gardener, and the other is always the flower. I also know that good company can come in many shapes and sizes, and to appreciate it while you have it; in the blink of an eye, everything can change.

*THERE WAS A DAY NOT THAT LONG AGO WHEN ALL THREE OF THESE CUTIES WERE IN MY LIFE, AND YET TODAY NOT A ONE OF THEM IS.*

I still text my Sister’s cell number to this day. The photo above was taken the last time I attended a Sunday Mass at Mt. Carmel and stayed afterwards in the side Chapel to say a Rosary and leave a little bouquet. I forwarded the picture and told her about it…that was two years ago.

So, my Sister/my Friend… I love you, miss you, and am making “your Chicken” for dinner this evening, in your honor. If you could send a little “nudge” down to Gaga that I’d really love the Salsa recipe, I’ll owe you BIG. Right now, I’m going to get back to making the most of my “Dash” and doing right by your memory. Save me a spot up there (not too soon though, please) and maybe enjoy an extra long, group hug with Macy Gray and Coralie for me tonight.

P.S. I’ll bring the Pinot Grigio and Ice (duh) with me when I come… promise!

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