Not a great way to end 2017. My person, my sister, is running out of options in her battle against metastatic breast cancer. I’ve been expecting it, of course, but it doesn’t diminish the lurch in my gut.
I’ve been sick to my stomach, literally. Is it the flu or the noro-virus that has been rampant across our nation early this winter season? Maybe, but most likely it’s that sixth sense when it comes to my sister. I don’t experience it with anyone else, just her. I feel sick at the same time that she’s going through something and we don’t even live in the same state.
We have not lived in the same state since 1979. She went to live in Pennsylvania while I remained in New York. She returned to New York and I moved to Florida. I returned to New York and she went to New Hampshire. I’m currently in New Jersey and she’s in Florida. But her soul is stuck to mine as if we were twins.
We’re not twins, by the way. She’s my baby sister.
My baby sister has been fighting for her life for 9 years now. And her options have narrowed dramatically. Pain has increased tremendously. And all I can do is sit here numb. Letting my fingers fly across a keyboard to express my wail. The wail I cannot and will not let her hear.