Liz glorying in her Uno triumph (Clockwise from left: Me, Mom and Liz)
Never am I more aware of the superficial than when I’m in the midst of a family crisis. And never do I wish more than ever that I could care about fine lines and grey hair than when I’m in a crisis.
But you know what? Even at these times, People magazine and rich night creams can be so soothing.
This time, the crisis revolves around my youngest sister. Liz has a constellation of mental, psychiatric and physical impairments as a result of a chromosomal abnormality called 22q11 Deletion Syndrome.
She was in hospital with worrying symptoms caused by who-the-hell-knows-what. Her symptoms, survival and prognosis are a puzzle, as they have been from the time she headed into open-heart surgery at six days old more than 30 years ago.
I love my sister. She’s sweet, courageous and a medical mystery that my mother has tried to troubleshoot for more than three decades.
I’m 10 years older. In 4th grade, I went to her last rites just before she was medivacked from Sudbury to Toronto to undergo surgery to repair an interrupted aortic arch. She survived then and she survives now. Liz is the second-toughest person I know. The toughest is my mother.
The good news is Liz’s intense pain has eased. She has been released from hospital and is back in the group home where she has lived for the last two years on Manitoulin Island. But she’s weak, shaky and has vision loss. I fear that she’s in a decline.
The two toughest people I know--my mother and my sister Liz.
She kicked my ass in Uno and laughed at my jokes, but I noticed that she has difficulty holding her head up and seeing. Yes, I get beaten in card games by my intellectually-challenged, palsied and now apparently half-blind sister, and this pleases me more than you could possibly know.
In the past, she mopped the floor with me at five-pin bowling and her triumph over me in Wii bowling is an embarrassment of strikes and spares.
Before I jumped into my van to travel 650 kilometres to see her and my mother, I packed very carefully, making a special point of including every tube and jar of skin cleanser, exfoliant, day and night moisturizer and body butter that I own. I was going to spend time with my frail little sister, but I wasn’t going to compromise good skin care to do it.
The night before I left, I felt put upon, sad and angry that I had to suit up to face another family crisis. After I pulled my head out of my ass, I realized that I needed to go for myself and no one else.
As I drove the thin ribbon of Highway 17 W past Cobden, past Deep River, past Mattawa, North Bay and Coniston, I kept wondering: “How much can life can take away from you, but leave the essence of you untouched?” The answer is a hell of a lot. Just be still and see.
When I arrived, I saw flashes of my sweet, impish sister of the past.
My skin care routine is still a five-step process, but now I see beauty in the face of my sister and in everything I see here.
Now I know why your blog went silent.
You are blessed with having two wonderful mentors/exemplars enriching your life.
May you, your sister, your mother and your epidermis thrive and prosper.
This is a heart warming post.
I am so lucky to a sister to both of you.
Patti – you keep me calm and help me find the humour (albeit twisted) in everything.
Liz – you keep me grounded and allow me to see things from a totally different perspective.
And for that I will always be grateful. xoxo
There are no words to say how perfect this post is.
Glad she’s doing a little better. I thought she was awesome the first time I met her – she was three or four and I think she called me a pisshead. Also, your skin looks fantastic.
Great post. I wish I was there–
What a touching tribute to both your sister and your mum. I’ll be praying for your sister – she sounds like an inspiration.
What a beautiful story- that’s what love and family are all about. Thank you for sharing.
And the advice you give yourself: “Just be still and see.” – JUST PERFECT
Wow, Patti… This was a really touching post. So genuine in the feelings of having to “do” another crisis, and recognizing the importance of facing it; yet, dreading it, crying out at the unfairness of it, and celebrating the strength of two incredible women. Best wishes and healing thoughts to your sister, hugs to your amazing mom, and love to you.
I hope she’s doing all right and that she had a smashing Easter. You, too, and your mum. Sounds like there’s a lot of backbone and balls in all the women in your family.
I admire the honesty in this post, Patti. It is seldom easy to deal with family issues, no matter the level of love. Yet, you find a way to inject some humor and much truth in your post. And I concur with Shannon that your advice to not just yourself but to the world around you to ‘Just Be Still and See’ is nigh perfect.
Not sure how I missed this last week but this post is inspiring in so many ways. Thanks for sharing it with us.
You are being all you can be.
LUJ
Both your mom and your sister sound badass. I hope she is doing better. xo
Babe… I dunno how you summon the strength, cheer or humour that you do.
I think you rock.
““How much can life can take away from you, but leave the essence of you untouched?” The answer is a hell of a lot.” I love this. It is so true.
What further touched me about this was that you don’t beat around the bush with politically correct disease monikers or statements. I could feel the love coming through.