Valentine's Day and Anniversaries

Last year, when my sister went into the hospital in January and it was clear that she'd not be coming home except on Hospice, I joked (at the time we were both joking as everyone assured us that she'd be renewing Hospice at least twice) that I'd rather she not die on youngest's birthday (early Feb) or mine (end of Feb.)

She assured me she'd do her best.

Then, when she did in fact come home on hospice, it was the day before youngest's birthday. But she was still hale and hearty (or as hale and hearty as one is with terminal cancer) and up to her usual bossy shenanigans. 

On the evening of the 13th, Daddy and I had to call the fire department in the evening to move her from the recliner (that she'd moved to of her own volition earlier that day to visit with a friend) to her bed. She was...not herself. And I drove home once she was settled sobbing in a way I thought only happened in badly acted movies as half-wail, half-screams tore from my soul involuntarily.

Because I knew it wouldn't be long. Couldn't be.

And no matter how ready I thought I was, it turns out that I was not.

The next day, Valentine's day, Daddy called around dinner time asking me to come because the Hospice nurse was there and wanted to talk to us about transferring her to a Hospice facility where she'd have stronger round the clock care than we could do even with the private nursing we were hiring.

So I went. I listened to her explanation and agreed it was best. So she got on the phone to arrange medical transport and I went in to hold my sister's hand and talk to her. No dramatic wailing this time, just tears that I only noticed because I had to keep wiping them away. I told her I loved her. I told her about the boys and reminded her that they loved her.

And I told her that if it was time for her to go, that she could go.

Less than five minutes later, she did, while Daddy and I held her hands.

Nothing prepares you for watching someone die. Nothing can erase the image of life there one moment and gone the next. It haunts me sometimes. And yet I'm glad I was there for her. I know it's what she would have wanted, though at the time she was well past knowing what was happening around her. I'm glad she didn't linger or suffer.

And yet I wish I had my sister.

I don't know why losing her was harder than losing my mom. Maybe losing Mom made losing someone else harder? I just don't know.

What I do know is that you need to tell the people you love that you love them. Family. Friends. Doesn't matter. Make sure they know.

Valentine's Day is as good a day to do it as any other. But if you can't get a hold of them today, do it tomorrow. Or next week. Do it every day. Every week.

Because even if you do, when they're gone, you're going to wish you could say it one more time.