YOU ARE MY SISTER

Dear Connie,

How are you holding up with your monthly chemo? Are you beginning to feel the benefits, i.e., less bone pain, less nausea, no more headaches? I know the weather affects your pain dramatically; that's why many people who can afford it move to warmer and drier locations. Or they go on a "chemo holiday" for a couple of months and take a trip somewhere they've never been.

It's important for you to have fun, "get out of Dodge" and enjoy yourself. If you have a special friend who would go with you for a weekend trip to Gloucester or Newburyport, or Martha's Vineyard, then you should go. Have a great time for yourself. Shop. Take pictures. Eat, eat, eat.

I found a couple of photos of Paul and Annie. Adorable.

I know it must sound insignificant, but pieces of information help with my memory. Looking at those photos of when you and Annie were younger, I may begin to remember what it was like when I was that age.

Was I happy being your sister even though I was a profoundly sad daughter traumatized by our father?

I talked to Annie yesterday and asked her how you are. She doesn't want to tell me. I cannot remember growing up, you don't know that. She didn't know until I told her. I have not been able to remember many decades of my life. My doctors tell me it was a protective mechanism. Still, there was always the reference to my relationship with you, that because you were so much older, 14 years older, and left the family to get married when I was only 5, that I didn't really know who you were. I don't remember when you came to visit, or when you finally moved back to Massachusetts.

I guess the first time I remember anything meaningful was when we both got breast cancer eight years ago. We talked about it, about the similarities, the different treatments we sought, and then we went our separate ways again.

Now you are dying. Your cancer has come back so insidiously to your bones and lung, and brain. I am frightened for you, and I cry often. They told me all I can do for you is be there and listen, wait, respect your treatment choices, and the way you want to live the rest of your life, and the way you want to die. I know there are better ways for you to live, and better ways to approach the end-of-life.

You do not want to see me. It would be too distressing for me to see you in so much pain? You are right; it would hurt me to see you like that and not be able to do anything to help you.

The real reason I believe is that you do not want to frighten me because you fear I may face this some day. You are protecting me.

You are my sister.