by Kevin Burton
There was a day in the 70s when my younger sister Patricia asked me a question. I knew the correct answer to the question, but I lied to her.
We were in the basement of our father's house in Yellow Springs, Ohio. Nobody else was around.
"When am I going to walk…..on my feet?" Pat asked.
I knew that Pat was born with spina bifida on top of all the other visual handicaps she and I shared. I didn't know anything beyond the name of the condition, but I knew she was never going to walk without crutches.
What I said to her that day was, "I don't know…" and just let my voice trail off.
I justified that by telling myself well I don't absolutely know she will never walk. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe science will invent something.
I also thought that subject should have been addressed by two other people I like to call, hello, her parents, my mom and dad. It wasn't my place.
I didn't tell her the truth because I thought it would be too much for her. Hey, it was too much for me.
My sister Pat began walking on her feet Sunday, when she died, two days short of her 58th birthday. If you're doing the math, you will realize today is her birthday.
It's possible she did some leaping, in Heaven, before she got to the walking part.
Since my birthday is two days before hers we always had "birthday week" at our house, and her big day was at least a little bit overshadowed because it came second. We had birthday fatigue by the time hers rolled around.
If you're still doing the math, you will realize she died on my birthday, effectively eliminating any possibility I will ever celebrate it again. I do believe that trumps any two-day advantage I had in the old days.
If that last sounds stupid to you, well it sounds stupid to me too. But none of my thoughts just now will sit obediently where I try to put them.
Our 90-year-old mother was in the hospital last week and I briefly thought we might lose her. (She is now much better and at home.)With my mind absorbed with that, I was not able to grasp intellectually that Pat could be near death.
Pat had a hard life. "She's been through so much" is our constant refrain. But she was a fighter. She fought through anything and everything and came out of it with an attitude more positive than anyone else's in the family.
I am so accustomed to her fighting through everything that I could not get on top of how serious her condition was until a hospice nurse spelled it out for me. Even then it didn't sink in fully.
Pat had too many medical conditions to spell out here. Those were all complicated by a recent bout with pneumonia.
If you have a sibling or two, you know how complicated those relationships can be, the childhood part and the adult part. I just won't be able to wrap my arms around the whole thing today. But we love each other very much and were able to express that before she passed.
There is a memorial service for Pat today at 1:30 at the nursing home where she lived. That could prove unbearably emotional for our family, as this is her actual birthday. She was a popular resident. I called her "the mayor" last week while we were visiting her in her last days in hospice. "That sounds about right," one of the staff nurses said.
I still can't believe she's gone. Surely I will have more to write about her, but I don't know what and I don't know when.
Also, don't be surprised if this blog goes dark for a while, or maybe intermittently. It's a tough time right now.
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