My sister died one year ago today, from complications due to cancer. Most of you who read my blog probably already know her story, but I wanted to write about her again anyway. She was my best friend; she still is, but part of friendship is being able to rely on someone and go to them with your problems. I can't really do that anymore. I know her well enough to imagine what she'd say in a given situation, but it's just not the same.
Today the three of us--me, my mom and my dad--visited my sister's grave. We brushed off the headstone, rearranged the fake flowers and American flag someone had placed nearby, and wiped off some spattered mud. Then we arranged a dozen white roses--her favorite--over her grave. We stared at the stone, sharing thoughts about this daughter and sister, arms around each other. I have never lost someone so close to me before. I have had grandparents pass on, but I was ten years younger at the time and did not feel as close to them.
I'm still not sure how often I should visit my sister's grave. I know there are no real rules, so whatever I decide to do is the right thing to do, but I like the structure some social protocols create. A part of me didn't want to visit the grave. It is the one place I feel her mortality the most, the reality of her absence, and the pain of her loss the most. It is also one of the few places I feel okay crying, and since my mother always told me crying is healthy, that must mean visiting my sister's grave can also be healthy.
Since my sister's death, I have tried to make myself face those painful reminders she is no longer here. The worst reminders are: visiting the graveside; the television show "Gilmore Girls;" listening to any song from the "Wicked" soundtrack, but especially "Defying Gravity;" her birthday; and the song "At Last," as performed by Ella Fitzgerald. I believe in facing fears, and fear of emotional pain is something worth overcoming. I have since started watching "Gilmore Girls" again, because my sister would want me to continue to enjoy the activities we did together. I think I will visit her grave at least once whenever I visit my hometown. It gets easier each time.
As soon as you start avoiding a certain activity, movie, song, it becomes harder to work up the courage to do it the next time. It would make my sister sad to know I stopped doing anything that reminded me of her. It's okay to think of her and feel the twinge of loss whenever I see a new Disney movie or a guy she would find attractive. I can still enjoy those things.
Still, I think there will always be a couple songs I won't be able to listen to anymore. It hurts too much to imagine that love song, "At Last," as it would have played at her wedding reception. It also makes me question God, and I do not like that feeling. I have faith that the Lord knew what He was doing, taking her from us so early, but there are a few times when I can't help but wonder. Some might say I shouldn't deny myself asking these sorts of questions, and I agree that it is healthy to ask hard questions about your religion. In this case, though, it would do more harm than good to question God's will. That is why I don't enjoy this song anymore.
The thought of my sister, my friend, passing on to the next life is bearable most days. It is hard, but I believe that God does not give us any trials that are beyond our capacity to bear. I am meant to learn something from this experience. If nothing else, I can empathize with others who lose people close to them. In a way, I have experienced a new level of mortality, since everyone will know someone who dies.
So for now, I will continue to remember my sister. I will tell my children all about their crazy, adventurous aunt; I will trust in the basic good of humanity; I will chase rainbows to find the end; I will sing into wooden spoons; I will keep going to Disneyland until the day I can't even sit in a wheelchair; and I will continue to look on the bright side of life. "Spiritually minded is life eternal," or, smile.
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