Let me tell you about Laura

The cool thing about my sister is that she wasn't afraid to look crazy.

She had a bowling ball collection. A BOWLING BALL COLLECTION, PEOPLE. And what is more is that she kept the collection out on the back lawn, the colorful balls randomly strewn across the green grass.

Advice: if you live where it snows, bring your bowling ball collection inside during wintertime or at least put the hole side down, because water gets in the holes, freezes, expands and cracks the outer layer. I know this to be true.

She also had 2 lighted fake palm trees (in Illinois). Tiny lights and reflectors in her outdoor trees. Crystals strung in her windows to make rainbows. A wild part of the yard so insects and animals could enjoy the wildness.

Because she was paralyzed from the neck down at the end, she was quiet and motionless and birds would land on her. She liked that a lot.

No wonder children loved her. They saw her big power wheelchair as a toy, which is also how she saw it. She dubbed it "La Tonteria," the foolish thing.

One summer, when we were in Chicago together, a mentally ill woman asked her "Do I make you nervous?" and she answered politely, "Oh, no, I'm just flustered by the heat." The woman snapped back "Well, that's God for ya."

I don't think we had a conversation over the past 10 years where one of us did not eventually say "Well, that's God for ya."

Oh, man, I hope she is somewhere really good.

Small graces

I am the kind of tired you don't get. I am the kind of tired that gets you. Every little thing is impossible to decide. Every action is like swimming through melted glass.

I am afraid to go out because of the unpredictable rains of tears. Last night it was the grocery store cookie aisle. Pepperidge Farm Ginger Man cookies. My sister loved those things. I cried a little and bought some in her honor.

Then the dreaded question: "How are you?" Not from people you know. From strangers. I lie pretty good, mostly. "Good, thanks." It feels like the most monstrous lie and I can barely squeeze it out.

Sometimes they say something "You look so tired." "Do you have the flu?" Then I balance on the verge of tears, trying not to say it. Because "My sister just died," is a huge hand grenade to drop in the middle of a conversation with a stranger and they really don't deserve it. On the other hand, by then I am beginning to get blotchy and to dissolve into tears and they already know they have stepped in it...

Yesterday at the coffee place I was buying beans and the girl asked "How are you?" and I said "That is a question my attorney has advised me not to answer." A joke but she could tell something wasn't right. Later she said "Well, I hope the rest of your day gets better" and all of a sudden I breathed in and it turned out to be this horrible ragged gasp that shocked us both.

That kind of stuff.

Everyone has been tremendous. Friends, family, church.

Goldie is especially concerned for me and climbs up on the bed to snuggle me and leans against my leg the rest of the time. Dogs know.

On the plane back from Chicago, I got such a funny blessing. There was a lady in the window seat who didn't speak English. Me in the aisle seat, no one in between. I was worried about how I was going to keep from crying for 4 hours. Before we took off, the window lady made a phone call and started crying. I gave her some tissue. I started crying. We smiled weakly at each other. I put the tissue package of the seat between us and we cried whenever we needed to throughout the flight. Row 31, the row of unspoken misery where it is ok to cry. It was such a relief to have that freedom.

Small graces, strung together moment by moment, lead us forward through days of sorrow.

Thanks again for all your kind words and thoughts.

She's gone. 8:20 this morning, with her husband and son by her side.

My teacher Mary Hill used to say
"You don't know how many times we have laid down our bodies
and risen up, laughing."

I hope so.

Mothers Day

Hilarious Mother's day Gift Guide from I, Asshole. It is divided into sections for Good, Evil, Fun and Stodgy Moms.

Also, Mothergoosemouse has a funny song up about Mothers Day (to the tune of "Jet Song" from West Side Story):

"When you’re a mom, you’re a mom all the way…
…from your first poopy diaper to your last dyin’ day."

As my sister lay struggling to breathe through the pneumonia, her only child, my nephew, walked in. He arrived last night from the San Francisco Bay area.

Just last night we were looking at photos of Laura and my nephew when he was a brand new little baby.

She gazed into his eyes with the very same shining love she had 37 years ago, when she was a young, newly-married 21-year-old. Some things never change.

Happy Mother's Day, everyone.

So anyway

I don't know what to report. My sis is still in dire straits, bodywise.

It is weird because half of me believes so firmly in the eternity of our souls and that we will all be together and happy someday (everybody!). Kind of like BlogHer without the bitching and complaining.

The other half of me is stunned and horrified and in screaming emotional pain at the thought of never sitting out on the back porch telling stories with her again. That this big chunk of all our lives may just fall out of the center and leave a big ragged gaping Laura-shaped hole.

So many people love her so much. You would, too, if you met her.

A Course in Miracles says:
Nothing real can be threatened.
Nothing unreal exists.
Therein lies the peace of God.

It's a hard one to get your brain around until you realize that the course defines "real" as "unchanging" and "eternal." So our bodies are not real because they change. Our souls, on the other hand, are real and go on forever.

At least I hope so.

Thanks again for your prayers and thoughts. I can feel them carrying me.