I never thought in a million years that I would have to say, "My sister died." Her name is Alycia. She fought a long fight with cancer that ended up wreaking havoc on her body. I loved her. I loved her deeply.
It is surreal that she no longer takes up space on the planet. I was there when she died. I saw her in the casket and saw the casket lowered to the ground.
The last time I talked to her was the Thursday before she passed. She was not using a lot of words, but she knew I was there. She told me she loved me and that she knew that I loved her. The rest of the time was moaning here and there. She wanted me to move some pillows. That was the last time. On Friday, we turned her, cleaned her, and talked to her, but she could not respond. One Saturday, I went in throughout the night to make sure she was breathing. I missed her 1 a.m. meds, but woke up about 5 a.m. or so and gave her a dose. Talked to her. I went back asleep and got on a prayer call about 7. Before I got on the call, I checked on her.
When the prayer call was over, I went into her room and she was gone. I am extremely grateful that I was there at the end. Words cannot express my sense of peace around that.
We knew she was sick. We knew she wasn't improving. We knew her prognosis was not good. But her death came too soon. She was gone too soon. It hurts to think about her. To see pictures of her smiling. To remember her pains. To remember the chemo sessions, the hospital visits. It hurst to remember playing with her when we were little. Fighting with her as a teenager. Laughing with her. It hurts.
Comments
Post a Comment