The Best of Friends

I was a lousy big sister. I didnt want to take my little sister Christine with me anywhere. I didnt want any reminders of home. For as long as I can remember I avoided being around her. Later much later at the end of her life I made up for it. I became her companion in death. Its not something I took to easily. Its not something I ever dreamed Id do. Its not something I will ever regret.

In the last weeks of her life during the spring of 1999 I remember wheeling her outside to the beautiful gardens of her Hospice home in Connecticut. It was a warm day and I parked the chair in a sunny patch of blue sky. I pulled up a chair and placed it next to her. Christine was quiet. She didnt have a lot to say. But then she had never been the talkative one. It was up to me to bring up the important and not so important stuff. I went for the unimportant first.

What else can I bring from your apartment? Any CDs you want to hear? Any photo albums? I remembered her new love of country western singers like Reba McIntyre and hoped theyd offer solace in her dying days.

Youve gone to so much trouble already. Just sit here with me.

Well Ill bring something I cant not come with anything. How about some jelly donuts and coffee from Dunkin Donuts?

If you want.

Okay, Ill bring that by in the morning. Connecticut was the only place where I could get white powdered jelly donuts; they didnt have those in Chicago. Just like they didnt have maple walnut ice cream or sauerkraut on hot dogs. It had been thirty-three years since Id left my hometown of Bridgeport, Connecticut, and the world no longer felt like it would go on forever. I went for what I wanted to know. Remember I said someday Id write a book about you? Remember I said Dr. Angoff thought it was a great idea and she might write something too? Do you have any thoughts on what youd like it to be called?

I cant imagine it. Who would want to read about me?

Lots of people would. I love stories about real people. Not the famous ones; theyll be remembered anyway. Why do they want to take over writing too? Try and think on a title for the book. We sat in silence for the next ten minutes. I looked over at Christines closed face and wondered where her heart was now. Maybe it was with her spirit slowly seeped out of her ravaged body, a body weighing no more than 80 pounds, a body unable to stand on its own.

Maybe it should be called Little Girl Lost, she said in a whisper, her eyes still closed, facing the sun.

Do you feel lost now? I said, trying to sound normal while my heart took extra beats and my left breast moved up and down as if it had a pulse of its own.

I was lost before I even started out. I see myself on the beach wandering forever. Wandering like a seagull, not taking up much space at all. Only without the wings.

I dont know. Youve done a lot. You raised three girls mostly on your own, youve traveled like you wanted and youve lived by the beach. Dr. Angoff thinks youve done wonderfully all these years. She says youve become your own person, doing what you want and not what others want you to do. Shes very proud of you. And so am I.

Im almost dead. I did what I had to do. If I could do my life over Id do it differently and leave right away like you did. You were always the smart one.

I got the chance and you didnt. I dont know why that was. Maybe it should be sub-titled, Big Girl Found, I said hoping to get a smile out of her, hoping she wouldnt be mad at me, her older sister, for living longer. I smiled but she didnt.

Do I have to be dying to find myself? Christines eyes opened and stared into mine. Her eyes were now her biggest feature. I dont know. I just dont think dying is something to be admired for.

I looked over at Christine about to ask her something else but shed fallen asleep. Her face was slumped onto her shoulders and her mouth was open. I reached over with my balled up sweater to make a pillow under her cheek. I didnt want her to wake up with a cramp in her neck. I didnt want her to wake up and regret she was still alive.

I hadnt brought anything to read, so I looked around as my heart spoke to my head. Sometimes there was so much to talk about, but at other times there was nothing left to say. Death was all around and the silence was filled with unanswered questions. How did it feel to be dying? How much longer would my sister have? How would she die? An older womans hospital bed was being wheeled out and put under a large tree nearby. She had several blankets on her despite the warm temperatures. I stared at her small face crowned with stray strands of white hair. Someone lighted a cigarette and handed it to her. The old woman took it, put it in her mouth and sucked on it for a while before letting out the smoke. I was surprised they allowed smoking there. Another skinny younger man wheeled himself out and passed us. I nodded and he nodded back without a smile. Some healthy looking people came out and sat nearby but they werent talking. They must have been visitors, like me. I waited for my sister to awaken, thankful that on this day she would.