My sister’s life draws to a close. I am saddened to have lost her so early, but ever so thankful to have had her in my life.
We would hide behind the worn brown couch and pull our shirts just up over our little belly buttons. Both innies. Being kids, our belly buttons seemed to be magnets for all sorts of mysterious things, and we would clean them out with cries of ‘yew!’ We shared most everything and I always considered that our relationship must be like that of twins. When I was eight, we took off on our single speed bikes and traveled to the famous L.L.Bean store, over eighteen miles away. When we had asked our loving mother for permission, I’m sure she said yes thinking we wouldn’t go further than a city block or two. No, Monica and I were in it for the long haul.
Now I am with her in her final hours. Just the two of us as our parents had both died just a few years prior. Her body ravaged by a cancer so astounding that the oncologist said he had never seen anything so aggressive. She had a complete immune system, as I had donated a double dose of bone marrow just a couple months prior to this horrid day. Just that dammed cancer wouldn’t yield for any chemo agent. When she was first diagnosed I was volunteering as a pharmacist at a local non-profit hospital. I would stand at the specially ventilated hood and prepare her chemotherapy. When finished, I would sign out, go to the room next door and hold her as the painful medication was delivered. Silently I would cry, behind her, out of sight. I would tell her to focus on the future when we would look back on this time and say, “Boy, didn’t that suck!”
Now I hold the remnants of Monica. Her labored breathing, slowing with each tick of the clock. For twelve hours I stayed there, just Monica and I. I read to her. Told her about her two little girls, how beautiful they were. Talked to her like I always had. There would be times when I’d leave for short times and burst into tears, sliding down against the sterile while wall and sobbing like a newborn baby on the cold tiled floor. With tremendous effort, I would compose myself and return to my sister.
Toward evening, I pushed some of the plastic tubing aside and made room on the medical bed so I may lay with her. With my arm over her bony shoulders, I would tell her stories from better days. Stories of days yet to come. Happy days. She was much too weak to be able to open her eyes, or squeeze my fingers: those days were gone. Those days of climbing mountains, riding bikes, venturing through Baxter Woods as little kids, or enjoying some cake, all those days were gone. We were now into the final hours. The nurses and doctors all stayed out of the room in respect, they had seen this sad scenario all too often.
The last hour was extremely tough. There were many times when she would miss a breath and I’d think that was it. I slid down the bed against the coarse blanket so I could hold her better. I whispered into her ear how much I loved her. How better things waited for her. How it was fine to stop fighting. I knew it. I just knew. That final breathe. She opened her eyes for the first time in days and seemed to be looking right at me. I’m told it is a reflex of the body, but seeing it first hand, it truly felt like she saw me. The eyes. I didn’t need to look at any screeching machine, her eyes told me she had passed on. Life had departed. I held her tightly and screamed out her name.
I give all my prayers to her though I know she’s in heaven now 
a very good write
I can relate to this as I am sur many people can. Great emotional piece.
Great one! well written
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