August 12, 2017 at 3:35 pm I lost my sister. Gwen had been sick for a long time. She had battled -alone- for the most part a devil that had no name. For too many years to count, a trail of doctors put her through agonizing tests, mountains of medicines and with only educated guesses at best- empty diagnosis after empty diagnosis. My sister so beautiful- so fearless- so funny and sweet died by degree over a period of years that most of us will never be able to count.  Gwen had a beautiful spirit- carefree and passionate- she loved babies and old people and animals and family.
It was in May- not very many days after her 59th birthday that she went to the hospital. She was so ill and in so much pain she could barely walk. She was on life support within a week and she lingered that way for another seven. She couldn't speak, or eat or respond- she couldn't move from the neck down. If all of this wasn't bad enough inside that very sick, immobile body she could still feel pain. I squeezed her foot once and she grimaced.  She was trapped in the body that had carried her through life's adventures but  that had now betrayed her.
My sister's beautiful curly hair began falling out. Her hands and face were so swollen I wouldn't have known it was her laying in that bed if someone hadn't told me.
I sat beside her- talking to her, begging her not to leave, begging her to blink if she could hear me. Hour by hour I prayed for a word or a sign or a miracle. She would occasionally open her eyes- those crystal blue pools so much like our dad's- and she would look straight at me. Twice she tried to talk but the respirator and tracheotomy had stolen her ability to make words. I still wonder what she was trying to say. I will never stop wondering what she was trying to tell me.
I sang to her, I read to her. I prayed with her. As gently as possible I rubbed lotion on her cracked feet and legs and hands and arms- the edema so severe I was afraid she would burst. I washed her face and put chap stick on her cracked, bloody lips. I thought of the times over the years that she had cared for me when I was sick or sad or hurt and I prayed she could feel the love in my touch as I tried with all my might to give back even a thimble full of the care she had given me over the years.
Sometimes at night I would put music on my phone - soft, soothing- spiritually uplifting music- the kind Gwennie loved most- gently I would put one earbud into her ear and the other into my own and side by side we would listen to the words of the songs that I knew she loved and believed.
And we cried. More than once tears fell from her indigo eyes and rolled down her cheeks. My tears soaked her hands as I held them against my face praying that just one more time I would feel the touch of the sister who had always been there for me.
Did I mention that in my selfishness, many times I cried, sobbing out loud -begging her not to go, not to leave me here.  I would yell her name and force her to wake up and to look at me and when she did I pleaded,  I wasn't ready to live without her. I told her there were so many things I still needed her to teach me- things I needed her to explain, things only my big sister would understand. I begged her not to leave. She looked right at me and she stayed.
When the day came and I realized she wasn't going to get better. Not ever. The doctors had given up on any quality of life and even if her heart kept beating- she would never walk- or talk- or move or hug. I told her that night- it was okay. That I knew she was suffering and that we would all be okay. I told her to run to dad. She had been moved to a different hospital by this time and strangely- ironically- she was in the exact same room where our dad had taken his last breath after a massive stroke. I believed he was there. I believe that when she closed her eyes in precious moments of rest,  she was holding his hand and talking to him.I told her to go with him. It wasn't that I didn't want her to stay- but rather I didn't want her to suffer...go Gwennie- go with dad. And finally- after over 8 weeks on life support, she picked up her head one last time and shook it left and right- she was saying "no- she couldnt stay" The next day she was gone.
Watching my sister die was horrible, and it took something out of me. It was more than horrible if there is anything worse than that and even now, I still see her face when I close my eyes. I see her looking at me with love, trying to ease the grief that she knew was inevitable for those of us left behind.
I can't for the life of me figure out why my sweet, caring sister had to endure such a horrible hellish death. People tell me I'm fearless and capable and I want to scream that I'm not- and that anything 'good' in me came from her. I never doubted Gwen's love for me. I had taken it for granted for so many years and now that she's gone, I am racked with guilt and sadness and unworthiness that the most beautiful one has died and I'm still here. I still feel her presence sometimes when the sobbing in my heart gets quiet. I hear her saying "its okay sissy. I'm okay and it really is beautiful here, and the sun shines all the time."
I miss you Gwen Ellen and I suspect I will never stop. I know you're with Dad and Grandma and Aunt Dee and I know that you my amazing sister, are more alive than ever. But I just cant wait to see you again and to hear you laugh as you say "Hi Sissy, welcome home".