Crossing That Bridge

He stood in the frame of the door, so 'clinical', so important. My sister and I sat on her hospital bed and stared at him, perhaps wishing he'd just go away. He didn't look like the kind of man who comes bearing gifts or good news.

Am I going to die?

...my brave sister said as politely as someone asking for directions.

"Yes, I'm sorry, you are going to die."

The oxygen left the room. My sister and I just looked at each other while seconds passed, seconds that felt more like minutes, that felt like hours, that felt like a lifetime. In his lab coat and without expression the man explained with his medical mouth moving up and down and up and down.

"Your cancer has spread Lynsey. We removed as much of your tumor as possible but the fibres still thread through your cells, your muscles, your flesh and it will continue to spread. Now, it is about quality of life."

I held her too tightly and asked, or imagined I asked him what 'that meant', quality of life? He went on,

"you could go for intense chemo-therapy and other forms of treatment to slow down the process but, eventually, you will die. This is not going to go away. There is nowhere for the cancer to go."

That was two years ago today. Today is my sister's 'death anniversary' and I still see that young Doctor at a door telling my beautiful sister,

"Yes, you're going to die."

When he left, not a word was said and tears I tried so hard to hold back fell from my face while I held her. She hugged me tightly which was normal for Lynsey as she has always been a 'HUGGER'. I remember whispering "I'm so sorry" into her hair, her long beautiful hair that she never cut and asked me to brush during her 2 months in the hospital. I had brushed her hair over the staples from two brain surgeries, two hopeful surgeries that would end her confusion.
She was too young to die. She was far too lovely to leave us and not be part of Christmas and birthdays, phone conversations and private walks. She was part of my life, daily, part of the smile on my face.
I curled up around her on her hospital bed and held her like a life-preserver. He was wrong, she's talking, she's smiling and sharing emotions and memories. She's whole. He's wrong.

She fell asleep and I went to the visiting room. It was empty, just like me. I could only sob. It consumed me. We are never prepared to be robbed of a person who we clearly see at the next gathering and many gatherings to come. We are not able in that moment to leg go of anyone so full of love who shares so many moments with you. Mom, Dad, Friends, Siblings .... what do I do? How do I tell our parents she is going to leave us? How do I carry this burden if I can only sob; words are gutted from my throat. But, you must do the unthinkable. Less than two years ago I did the 'unthinkable' and a week later she was gone. Two months of hope had collapsed in four words spoken from a door frame.

Afraid to leave the hospital, to leave her alone, I finally felt brave enough to drive. I had told my parents. They had each other now. I drove over the bridge that I had driven over every day for the past two months. My bridge of tears. The only time I allowed myself to fall apart, to hate God, to question 'why' we are even born good if we must face such horrors. I blasted my music in the car, I screamed, I yelled, I swore and yes, I prayed and I begged for mercy for my sister's life. We have all done this at some point in our life or, we will. We will rage and be unforgiving of death and what it leaves behind.
I have been sad before but this was such a dark abyss of sadness I felt I could never crawl out of it. You become two people, the 'strong' son, brother, friend who smiles at death and lifts up the people in her life to safe places 'and', you are the angry brother who feels hopeless and guilt. Guilt is only coming from a place where YOU CANNOT PLAY GOD; it goes away.
My prayers were not answered.
I sat by her bedside and smiled at her young face. I told her she is such a wonderful sister and then, I begin to tell her about 'why' she is wonderful. The times she makes me laugh, the times she listened to me when I was a burden, the times we joked about growing old together and having 'cane' fights in a Senior's home. She'd smile. I didn't know if she knew this would never happen but I pretended it would. It made me feel whole again. I continued to brush her long hair and play music I'd put together for her to get lost in. I JUST NEEDED TO MAKE EVERY SECOND, MINUTE, HOUR, DAY MATTER...it's all you have left. That's why someone once said, 'we'll always have the hours, THE HOURS'.

Lynsey wanted others to be happy, she told me this 'often'. She wanted to live in a small country home with animals around her, to have her own garden and lead a simple life. She was humble. Lysney lived for Christmas. She loved 'It's a Wonderful Life', 'Filling Stockings for all of us', 'Helping Mom with the Turkey Dinner'. She was the ultimate giver, selfless and generous.
At the hospital I would watch her greet the janitorial staff and apologize for not 'making her own bed' or 'clearing her tray of plastic cups and bowls'. She asked them how their day was going and if they had family waiting for them at home. She was so selfless. I'd watch her and only wish I could be a tenth as caring as she is.

For two months the only world I lived in was my sister's world. I spoke with her closest friends, fed her two beloved cats, helped her walk down the hall and updated her on 'anything good' outside her walls. It was easy to be with her, to love her and to care for her. It's never a duty or responsibily when you have this unconditional relationship with another human being. It just happens. I never felt so close to her as I did in death. Death ultimatly makes everything bigger than life, brighter, more important. I have never known this feeling before, not until Lynsey's days were precious.

The phone rings at six in the morning and I know. Alone, by her bed, I smile down at her because she is finally at peace. I hold her hand and I thank her for the joy she has brought into my life. It's my time to be selfish with her, alone, in death. I tell her how she made me a better person and I will be a better person for others. This is the gift she leaves with me. With our parents arriving in a short time, I brush her hair one more time, fold her lovely hands, tuck her in one last time and kiss her on the cheek.
The bridge is crossed one more time. The bridge of a thousand tears, cursing monologues and confusion. One last time I cross that bridge and make that promise to never let her memories go, never. And, two years ago today I keep that promise to you Lynsey. I still have picked up the phone to call you but, "this number is no longer in service", and I remember I have to find other ways to talk with you, so I do.
You have and will always be loved my very brave and beautiful sister.