After my sister died last April, I kept thinking, “I just can’t wait until this year of firsts is over.” I spent the spring and summer of last year saying, “We didn’t even know she was sick yet.” Then, in October it was, “Last year this time, Chris had just had surgery.”  In January it was, “This time last year, we were celebrating her birthday.” Each month, there was another “anniversary” to remember.  Today, I can still think, “this time last year, she was still alive.” She was on her way out of this life at this point, but she was still here. She was still breathing and trying to communicate with me in small ways, though she couldn’t speak any more at this point.

I really believed that it might be easier to think about once this year of firsts was over.

But, now that it’s here, there is a strange new grief. After April 30^th, I won’t be able to say, “This time last year…” and end that sentence in any way that says Chris was still alive. I don’t know why but this makes me sad in a whole new way.  It sort of feels like losing her all over again. Another strange thing is that, I’ve also spent this past year only remembering her with cancer. All the many, many years of memories I have of her but when I think of her now, I only see her as she was when she was sick.

I don’t know much about the stages of grief but I’m assuming this is a fairly common thing.  I just need to realize that it’s never going to be easy.  No amount of time that goes by is going to make me miss her any less. There will always be an empty space in our lives where she was.  But, I’m sure once we get past this first anniversary, I’ll be able to look back and remember her before she was sick.

I am so grateful that I was able to spend those last few days with her. It was difficult to watch her and know there was nothing I could do to stop it. But, I know she was glad to have me there. A couple of days before she passed I spent the night with her in the hospital. It was the last night she was able to open her eyes. Every twenty minutes or so she would open them and just look at me. She couldn’t say anything but I know she was just checking to make sure I was still there. I would just look back and smile at her.  I didn’t know what else to do other than try to look encouraging.

The very next night, my Aunt Shirley came and sat up with me all night. We sat across from each other, each of us holding Chris’s hands and remembered funny stories from when we were kids. We did a lot of laughing that night. I know Chris was aware enough to hear that and I like to think it made her happy.

The morning Chris died, as sad as it was; it was so amazing to see the peacefulness on her face as she breathed her last.  Strange as it may sound, it is truly one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed.  After all the months of sickness she finally looked happy.  I swear she went with a small smile on her face. I’ll be forever grateful I was there with her.