Back in the early eighties there were four of us. My parents and my older sister completed our family. We were pretty close and did most things together. Naturally as we grew up, life became busier and we moved apart.
We would take long drives to tournaments, parades, races, or competitions. Every weekend we had something to do. Summers were spent with my grandparents or visiting relatives in another country. Whatever the plans, we were doing it as a family.
We grew up on the east coast of Canada. After high school my sister moved west to Calgary and I moved south to North Carolina. Many miles and a couple time zones separate us. Eventually my parents moved to NC after I had children of my own. They were grandparents now.
Even living so far away we tried to spend Christmas together. My parents would host. My sister would fly down from Calgary. We would bring my grandmother down from Nova Scotia. We had a great time.
And then tragedy struck.
When I was 32 years old my mother called me telling me they found my sister dead of an apparent pulmonary embolism in her apartment. She was only 35. Over the next several weeks we made arrangements all over Calgary by phone. My husband and I flew to Alberta to clean out her apartment, collect her belongings, and bring her ashes home.
Fast forward to six year later. Now I’m 38. My father died of cancer a few months ago. We have cleaned out his house, collected or donated his belongings, and brought his ashes home. Our cozy little family of four has now become two.
Yes, I have my own three beautiful, kind hearted children and a loving husband but not having my sister there to talk with in the middle of the night; or for a laugh during Christmas dinner. Not being able to call up my daddy and ask him for advice or tell him about an accomplishment his grandchild has done is hard.
I know it will get easier.
I really am hoping we are done with death for a while. Two immediate family members in six years is too much.
Oily Minded Medic 