Today's loss story comes to us from Paula Jay, known as a straight-shooting, humorous and beautiful writer.
When guest writers contribute here, on WarnerWords, writing about their significant losses, a whole new dimension seems to come through. This is from the heart--a sadness and longing that doesn't leave, because the relationship was so deep. Here, with my great thanks, is Paula's story. |
For as many times as I’ve let my mind wander off into my childhood with my precious and only sibling, Patricia (Pat), I see the truth each time, so clearly. I can still feel the warmth and sweetness of the first time I came to the realization. I hadn’t thought I could feel any closer to her than I had for the fifty-five years we were granted, but in fact, I surely did.
I’ve never doubted it was Pat who opened my eyes to see the obvious. She always took such pleasure in “being right.” My sister, the sweet, modest genius, with an incomparable comedic wit. No one in all of my life could bring me to such uncontrollable laughter, and no one has since. No one ever will. |
My sister, my gift
Remembering back so many years with detail has never really been simple for me, except when I recall the two of us. It’s those moments that play out clearly, complete with every emotion felt and every secret shared. It often takes my breath away when I realize how blessed we were. How very fortunate I was to have her as my gift.
For so many years, the miles that separated us became nearly non-existent against our insistence to reach out, to hold tightly to our bond, and take every chance for any reason to unite. And we did, with children in tow, on stolen time and all else placed on hold. The simple pleasure of being together and sharing our lives seemed to take the guilt-free lead every time.
Tragedy strikes
Surely I used all my magical powers she’d ever taught me, to transform my lifeless spirit into the tower of strength of Rapunzel’s Castle. It was something I knew I must do. It could not have been otherwise.
The struggle--an everyday sadness
“Sleep, my precious sister, for you are my lifeline and I need to feel your strength.”
Pat’s three wonderful and gorgeous children gave her such joy, even more so their darling babies who gave hugs and giggled as they played unaware of the doom we strove to push away. I would sit back and watch the activity and listen to the words spoken, all the while thinking...
"So, this is what it’s all about?"
"Is this ultimately where we find ourselves? Holding on for dear life? Still wanting more and more?"
"Please... give us more time.”
Aftermath
Image via Paula Jay
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But that is not to be, my friends. The dreadful moment arrives when time ceases to exist.
Silence fills the air and grief becomes the most powerful, overwhelming creature on this earth. All-engulfing grief like a mammoth boa constrictor slithered around your entire being, squeezing every bit of life, every ray of light, every ounce of hope from all you believed you were or ever could be. It is taken and it’s gone. In eleven years, the relentless ache remains. Well, what can I expect? My lifeline has moved on, and beyond--to where, I do not know yet. But I am bound to find her. For whatever else is there for my purpose? When I do feast my senses upon her again, they will all be there waiting and smiling. Waiting to embrace and be swept away to bliss. Once again, she will unselfishly welcome me with open arms, just as she did when she was five. |