I was reading my last couple of posts and thinking, "wow, aren't you full of shit?" Ok, maybe not completely full of it, but the pretty way I wrote about my feelings surrounding my sister dying makes it seem like I'm holding it all together and look, here's a pretty photo too!
Or maybe you really do see through the cracks, realizing that I'm broken and devastated and my body is now manifesting all that I'm holding in as I try to process that my baby sister is going to die.
I'm having panic attacks that frighten me because they are far more intense than the usual; my tears the only release from chest pains and shallow breathing light-headedness.
Thank god for good friends who save me, who let me be and don't fill the quiet space with chatter about how I'm feeling or what do I need. Chances are, I need to tell that person to fuck right off and leave me alone and thankfully my dear hearts can take the laser tongued barbs that strike now and again, loving me, granting me that get out of jail card that I so desperately need.
That's what it's about. The get out of jail card. The forgiveness and compassion that comes when someone is having a rough time in life. When the chips are really down, that's when all that other shit shouldn't and doesn't matter.
This life that I'm living, one that soon has me living without my sister, is detailed in a hyper-kinetic way, that truly displays one of my favorite sayings, "it is what it is".
Sometimes I don't know who I am any more, this girl moving through the motions, driving around an unfamiliar city that is now becoming a place I know, albeit under the worst circumstances. I notice the beauty surrounding me here in Vancouver, I eat delicious food and I enjoy the time I have when I'm not packing, or thinking about packing, or walking into the hospital and trying to aquaint myself with that hospital smell I've come to despise.
I visit my sister and I mourn. I grasp the jeweled moments of lucidity that come in phases of drug cycles and sleep. I force myself to stay in the room when the dressings are changed; realizing that she doesn't want to be in that situation, that me leaving because I'm a pussy when it comes to smells, isn't supportive. I learn to put aside myself for my sister; giving her what I can, (because I really can't help her at all), and trying to absorb as much time as I can, while I can, trying to remember to take care of myself so that I can continue.
