Audrey Carli  Inspiration in a Family Tragedy

                                         

Coffee aroma filled the kitchen on Monday morning when the phone rang. My sister Ann called from Iowa and gently said our sister Jean in Key West had been diagnosed with lung cancer. “Lisa, it spread to her brain and liver. She had no idea until her hand felt floppy and she could not write a check for groceries four days ago. Adam was so worried, he took her to the Emergency Room. She was diagnosed and is home now in a rented hospital bed.”

The news made me feel slammed against the wall with emotional pain.

“Oh, no!” I groaned, choking back a sob. “Jean and I email each other almost daily! I had no idea!”

“Jean said she hasn’t used the computer lately. So tired! She emailed you often, Lisa. Your Ted died so suddenly, Jean worried about you alone in Michigan.”

I felt touched by Jean’s thoughtfulness. Ted’s death left me lonely and grateful for my family, friends, neighbors and writing career.

I told Ann that Jean worried about her. Ann’s husband Dan was killed when his car skidded on an icy road and hit a tree. Ann had to manage the family’s grocery store. She had a kind helper, Nora Kent, who helped in emergencies.

My tears flowed as Ann and I ended our call.

We sisters had been close since early childhood. Marriage took us to different locales. Our summer reunions were precious.

Jean has to recover for our future reunions!

Later, while brushing my hair by the bathroom mirror, I paused to stare at my reflection. My thoughts flowed: “Life gives us happiness. We’re never ready for bad news!”

When Jean is well we will celebrate at our July reunion.

Later, my worry pounded. Jean and Adam had not yet gone for their annual physical exams. November was their usual appointment date, four months away.

They also walked for a half hour daily. They had pep until lately when extra work had tired Jean. So Adam walked alone or not at all.

If Jean or Adam felt tired, they rested. If they had a headache, they eased the pain with aspirin.

They promised us if they ever feel sick or had pain, they would make a medical appointment at once. Jean had said their resting from walks would restore her pep.

Ann and I had each experienced an appendectomy so we had annual exams.

I had begun to lean toward Jean and Adam’s thinking. I had decided I would plan for two year exams.

Worry about my sister blocked my mind from my article writing plan.   My thoughts drummed: “Jean has to survive! She is only three years younger than my age forty-seven.”

I phoned Ann during her afternoon work resumed at the store.

“Ann, I feel so sad for Jean. Do you think this afternoon is a good time to phone her?”

She sighed. “I tried to phone her for a visit. In two minutes, she said she felt too tired to talk. She said she felt too depressed since she heard her diagnosis.”

Ann’s experience led to my mailing Jean a cheery note in a get well card that afternoon.

I wrote, “We’re planning for our fun reunion in July, Jean. We pray you’ll feel better by then.”

That evening, I phoned Ann. “We love Jean so much, let’s visit her soon. That darn cancer can’t take her from us!”

Although Ann and I longed to console Jean soon, we knew she needed a few days to adapt to her difficult situation.

The morning hours ticked by and I tried to sit at my computer and write my latest article. But my thoughts fled back to Jean’s, Ann’s and my childhood fun. We three had played house and other games while we were preschoolers.

Memories flowed. I felt determined to dwell on our childhood fun times. We enjoyed jumping rope. We made pretend grass soup in a bowl with water. We sang silly songs and giggled.

Marsha, my neighbor, did not yet know the bad news. When she dropped in to visit with coffee and cookies, it was a normal day.

She smiled, greeted me and filled her usual coffee mug.

We sat at my round kitchen table centered with a green plant.

Marsha looked at my face and soothed, “You’ve been crying. I know it’s lonely for you. I’m here, your pal, Marsha!”

I managed a weak smile at Marsha. She had been a Certified Nurse Assistant before marriage and having two children. I asked Marsha how long Jean could live with widespread cancer. I told her the details and my mailed get well card to my sister.

Marsha’s warm hand reached for mine.

“Marilyn, honey, sometimes things progress so fast, there may not be time to say goodbye. Your sister knows you love her, Marilyn! You’ve told me how close you three sisters have been since childhood. The note you sent today will cheer her a lot!”

I squeezed Marsha’s hand to thank her.

I had tried to tell Jean all the right words, but how? I could not say “Goodbye” to Jean as if she is surely to die! Her recovery depended on the latest good medicine.

I would phone her and tell her she need not talk if she feels too tired. I would try to sound optimistic and recall our fun memories while growing up together.

Soon, I would fly to Key West. I would hug Jean and tell her I love her. I would sit by Jean and hold her hand. I would talk about our fun memories and how great our sisterhood was with her, Ann and myself.

The next day, I phoned Ann. She agreed to the plan to fly to Key West to be with Jean. We would stay at a motel to give Jean and Adam restful time together.

Ann said, “When the radiation has destroyed the malignancies, Jean will feel better. I’m feeling hopeful, Marilyn!”

“Thanks for your upbeat words, Ann! They’re like warm sunshine on a cold day!”

That night I tried to sleep, but I visualized Jean’s blue eyes and long, blonde hair like a soft curtain touching her back.

The following day, Ann and I made plans to fly to Key West from her Iowa locale and mine from Michigan. Ann and I would meet in Key West on the same day. We would settle in our motel room, then hurry to visit Jean and Adam.

How could I guess that sometime the best plans may not work?

Two days before our scheduled flight plan, Ann got the phone call from Jean’s husband, Adam. The news was so sudden—and heartbreaking. Our dear sister, Jean, had passed away at 10:20 the prior evening.

“We didn’t have a chance to say goodbye!” Ann and I groaned as sorrow engulfed us and our jerking sobs filled the phone connection.

“I’ll find out the funeral arrangements and then call you, Marilyn. We’ll change our flight plans to fit the funeral. Maybe then we can whisper our good-byes to Jean at the funeral home.”

Minutes later, Ann phoned again. There would be no funeral. Jean had chosen cremation. So a summer Celebration of Life was planned.

Later that day, I tried to shake off my knifing regret that Ann and I had not been able to say goodbye!

But I finally consoled myself that Jean would no longer endure pain.   Adam said she had been given morphine the day before she died.

Sorrow groaned through me so I rested on the sofa. If only time had allowed me to personally say farewell to Jean.

“We had no chance to say goodbye!” I groaned to the empty room.

If only we three could have had rides again on the Ferris Wheel!

I recalled us sisters as children enjoying our rides together on that huge

Wheel.

I recalled the carnival music and hummed a tune to try to grab at a glad memory. I could almost hear the music. We sisters rode upward on the huge Wheel, over the top, then downward as we continued huge circles.

I closed my eyes as I lay in bed. I visualized us three on the big Wheel.

Glad relief leaped when in a dream, I saw Jean beaming down at me as she sat alone on the rolling Wheel. Her long, blonde hair billowed like a fragile curtain in the breeze.

Then, Jean waved again as her Ferris Wheel seat rose higher and higher until she rode upward above the carnival ride—into the dark, starry sky.

Jerking awake, I whispered to my quiet living room. “Good-bye, dear sister! I love you!”

I said it aloud, knowing in my heart and soul, that she heard me—and her farewell was to each of us who loved her so much!

When I told Ann about it, she said she had been feeling better knowing we could convey our love to Jean when we were at the Memorial Service.

I sensed that somehow my dream about our farewell wave as she rode high into the night sky, to us, would be her final heartfelt farewell from her bed.

She may have recalled that we three had planned to attend our hometown’s summer carnival to ride the Ferris Wheel together again. DSS

 

   Audrey Carli, of Iron River, Michigan, is the author of several books and magazines, and has taught creative writing to adults. She also is a speaker on 'Coping with Grief.'

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