She died on August 12, 2011 at approximately 6:15 PM. I was not there. I had seen her the day before and had said “goodbye” then and on prior visits (almost every other day for over a month). Rick, Susie, and Kristy were there. They have said it was “horrible,” that she had fought for every last breath, and I should be glad I wasn’t there. I am not glad, I would have wanted to be with her on that last day, as I was with my mother over 44 years ago. Mom, in a coma, took just one last breath, a long deep sigh, she did not fight. It was not “horrible.”
Of course Pat would fight. She was a fighter, she fought so bravely for months, she kept going even when she couldn’t eat nor drink. She was a mere skeleton, maybe 70 lbs., skin covering her bones with nothing in between. Sometimes she would awaken and seem quite normal, she still wanted that last cigarette. Other times, she would awaken and look at me wanly, as much of a smile as she could manage and I would say, “I love you,” and she would say “I love you too.” I did lose it once, the next to last visit, when my tears mingled with hers as she put her hand on my face and I buried my face in hers. If she knew she was dying, she did not say the words. I had told her it was “ok to go” a week or so before that, and she had said “what do you mean?” I answered only “what I said,” and was sorry I had said it, she wasn’t ready to hear that.
On August 12, when I called Kristy and Susie and received no answer, and then called Rick and received no answer (I knew they were all there), I suspected. Then Erin texted me and asked me if I wanted her to come over. I replied “yes, if you want to,” I still wasn’t sure. Then Megan called and said she was coming over, and Erin texted “it’s happening now.” It was about ten minutes to 6. That’s when I knew. That’s when sounds that had never come out of my body before, even when my dear mother died there were tears and sobs, but not sounds like this. It was a series of long, quiet wails, sometimes almost grunts, and I had no control over them, and they didn’t stop, they just kept coming, one after another. At one point they stopped and I could then think, “my sister has died.” Then they started again, and again, I was deep into a stream of them that I couldn’t control. I felt paralyzed. I wanted to get to my bed, but I could not move.
Megan came in and went into the bathroom, then came over and helped me to my bed. I was so grateful that she was here, I did not want to be alone. After a few minutes the wailing stopped. And then Erin came. Then calls were made and I spoke to my brother who told me she had died at 6:15. I then realized that my wailing had coincided with her process of dying, she had not died yet, so I was with her after all. While I was wailing, she was dying.
I am not spiritual, I do not believe in an afterlife, or a god, or any of those things, so I know she is just “gone.” She hasn’t “joined” my mother and father, she is not looking down on me, I can never talk to her again, I can never see her face again, her body is ashes, her anguish is over, as all is over for her now. She doesn’t exist anymore. I will not join her when I die. Death is the end. It is as it was before we were born . . . we are nothing, but this time it is forever, never will she walk this earth again. The world ends for the dead. It ends millions of times a day.
I can’t imagine that for my sister, no one can imagine it. Her time on earth is just gone, leaving those who love her without her for the rest of the time we have left. The cycle will begin again for all children born the day she died and every day after that. It’s simple really, it’s merely the accident of birth, the inexplicable existence of life on a planet, in a universe that no human being will ever really understand.
One life is a small thing. But that one small life had much meaning for those who loved her, as I do and always will, she CAN exist in my brain, she CAN be part of me every single day, because I wish it to be so. I am still alive and I can think of her every single minute if I choose to do so, and I choose to do so. I can look at her photos . . . how very beautiful she was as a young girl. I can do that every day, because I am still alive and I can choose to do so.
I haven’t cried much since my “keening,” or whatever it was that I did. I woke up Monday morning mentally confused. I thought she had died last year. I couldn’t remember ordinary things, like my grandchildren’s names, my own phone number. I went through a mental list of trying to recall things and I couldn’t recall a lot. I called Joan because it was early and I didn’t want to upset my kids. She said “go to a hospital,” in a very urgent way. So I called Erin and she took me to the hospital. I stayed overnight, more CT scans and MRIs (my radioactive body), bloodwork, other tests . . . nothing was wrong with me. I had not had a TIA or a stroke. I was fine except for my pesky “cholesterol,” which who cares. Obviously I had some kind of stress-related mental lapse and it hasn’t happened again.
Pat . . . my darling sweet sister. Yes, I’m crying now, but it’s regular crying that I suspect I will do a lot for a long time. I will talk about the memorial and other things some other time. Right now it’s her loss I will mourn, for nothing else matters right now.
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