My oldest sister is visiting a friend, one she's known since Junior high, who is now in a drug-induced coma, in a Long Island hospital this morning. She's not going to come out of this coma. This is part of her dying. I know how close my sister and this woman are. They double dated together, cut class together, shopped, shared their life's pleasures and worries, everything friends do.
How do you say so long to a friend like that?
This was a person who shared in the delight in learning about your life's triumph's and shed tears with you when you sobbed about the disappointments. You didn't just invite them to your wedding, you made them part of your ceremony. If they got pregnant before you did, or got their period before you did, or knew of a doctor that you should go to, they were there. They were just there.
I don't know how not to cry when thinking about the tears my sister is swallowing so that she can drive on the Northern State or the Long Island Expressway to visit her friend, and walk through the hospital door. I don't kow what kind of anguish she is in when nobody is around. But, I think I feel that anguish now.
It just is.
1 comment:
I always enjoy reading your blog.
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