RIIIIIIIIING!

Me: Hi, Toni!

.....

Me: Toni? What's up?

Toni: ... I have pancreatic cancer. Stage 4.

Me: NoNoNoNo! I'm coming over.

And that's when my heart splintered into a thousand pieces. 

It's funny how six little words can completely devastate you. I hung up the phone, and drove straight to my sister's house. She was already writing down all the information we would need to take care of her estate after she was gone. She always was the sibling of action. Decisive. Once she made up her mind as to what she wanted to do, she plotted a course, and achieved whatever she set out to do. Her life's plans meticulously mapped out in spread sheets and spiral bound notebooks. These dire circumstances were no different. 

She was 68 years old. The same age our Father was when he died 32 years prior. An irony not lost on either of us. "You know I'm the same age as Daddy" she said when I arrived. The same thought struck me on the drive over. We had just buried our Mom, FFS. This wasn't supposed to happen, not now anyway. The two of us were finally going to be able to relax, hang out together again, go back to the beach without the burden of caregiving. Toni was the healthiest of all of us. That she was going to be the first of us to go was beyond imaginable. Losing my beloved Big Mar was hard, but losing Toni was heavier than anything I had felt before.

I am fortunate to have amazing siblings with whom I am close. They are all smart, funny, and spectacular in their own individual ways. As we aged, Toni and I got closer. We had more opportunities to spend time together. We went to the same church, were in the same Card Club (that she started), and traveled together. Any family parties/celebrations that happened, she and I planned them. Surprises for big birthdays, she and I schemed them. She was always willing to be my wingman for any travels. I could always count on her to be my +1. Her lightness of being, infectious laughter, and loving spirit made her an easy companion. As spontaneous as she was, she was also steadfast, her feet solidly on the ground. She was so much like Big Mar in that way, and so many other ways. She had this innate ability to talk me off the ledge when I was beyond irritated with people, or the weight of caregiving got too heavy. She never failed to make me feel better, and help me rationalize my ire away. She was my touchstone.

After her husband, Art passed away in 2013, Toni set out to make her home a happy place for gatherings, friendship, and laughter. People were drawn to her warmth, wit, and magnetic smile. She was the center cog of so many circles of friends. She hosted game nights, birthdays, and a discussion group with her single friends called The Kid's Table. When Big Mar moved into the senior living center, Toni became the center cog of our family, too. Like our mother, she hosted family holidays with ease, grace, and love. 

March 2021 changed everything. Everything shifted. I became Toni's person. I went with her on her medical journey. I was with her when she received the definitive results of her biopsy. I was with her when the paliative care doctor discussed her options. I was with her when she decided there would be no treatment options. 

Hospice set up a pain medicine regimen which 

And that unfinished sentence right there is where I stopped writing a year ago. I had planned to vomit my feelings in time to post on the one year anniversary of her passing, but I just could not. It was too hard. I started and stopped at least 200 times in the past year, composing mainly in my head, but not committing any of it to paper. 

 Anyone who knows me, knows how much I adored Big Mar, and how much I miss her every day. This doesn't diminish the depth of my grief for her absence, but losing my sister was an entirely different beast. It is so much harder. The grief is off the charts. It's unfathomable until you go through it. I feel compelled to apologize to my friends who lost a sibling, for not understanding the depth of their pain. It is beyond anything I could ever have imagined. I was and still am gutted.

When the hospice nurse set up Toni's pain med regimen, my sister was able to keep the dosages straight. Within a few weeks, the opioids made her mind too foggy to handle her drugs properly. It was clear she needed assistance, especially overnight. When I reached out to family and her friends for help, no one turned me down. Everyone pitched in to make sure she wasn't alone. Her two best friends selflessly volunteered to stay overnight to make sure she got her meds at the proper time to minimize her pain. A beautiful testament to how Toni touched their lives. 

Each day that passed, Toni got weaker, less clear-headed, and unable to eat. One day halfway through the end of her time on Earth, I felt particularly devastated by the inevitable. As dumb as it sounds, I needed my Mom. On the drive to the cemetery, I screamed so long and loud in the car, I lost my voice. All I wanted to do was purge the sorrow, rage, and pain. I'm certain I looked like a psychopath, but I gave zero fucks about that. I guess it helped a bit. I don't know. I was unmoored and raw and pissed off. I knew I had to get my shit together, and not fall apart in front of my sister. 

My oldest sister, my brother and his kids drove out to visit around Easter. Toni rallied while they were here. We had a big gathering at her house with the family and a couple of her close friends. She looked so happy to be in the middle of her loud family. The laughter did her good. By the time they all left, the copious amount of Tylenol and the cancer spreading to her liver turned her eyes and skin yellow. A few weeks later, the hospice nurse called me in the early morning. Toni had become incoherent overnight, and the nurse felt it was time to move her to the hospice facility. When I hung up the phone, I literally wailed and dropped to the floor. I have NEVER done that before. I couldn't help it. I just collapsed. Geo was in the shower. He doesn't even know it happened. I never told him. I guess he knows now. Ha Ha! I have never felt debilitating grief like that before. This was the beginning of the end. I was devastated. 

By the time we got to Toni's house, she was more lucid. She was laying on the bed with her eyes closed, but she was more aware of her surroundings. Like I said above, I was her person. When I asked her if she wanted me to call her son, she said she didn't want him to worry if she was going to be in and out of hospice. It broke my heart to look her in the eye and tell her she wasn't coming home. This was it. I saw the meaning register, and I hugged her. 

Okay, here's a weird thing. When the ambulance finally arrived 9 hours later, the EMT asked my sister if she could walk to the stair climbing we had installed for her, or if she needed them to carry her. She looked at them and said, "No. She can walk." He asked her again, and she repeated, "No. She can walk to it." So weird, right? Like someone else was speaking through her. I think it was Big Mar. Toni and I used to talk about this kind of spiritual stuff all the time. I miss our talks.

We took her to Canterbury in Lawrenceville on a Friday. The nurses there are full-on angels on Earth. They are so caring and loving and amazing. I don't know how they do it. I would be in tears all day. They took amazing care of Toni. Their hearts are super sized. 

Toni was a bright light in so many lives, there was a steady stream of visitors every day to shower her with love on her final days. Even my cousins drove up from Virginia just so they could see her one last time before driving back home the same day. On May 4th, five days after she arrived, my sister peacefully crossed over, her oldest friend by her side. 

The time between February 14 and May 4 of 2021 were, hands down, the hardest days of my existence. I was a listing ship, damaged and adrift. Moving at the mercy of waves of overwhelming feelings too visceral and raw. I could very easily be Sad Girl, but I don't want to be Sad Girl. I choose NOT to be Sad Girl. Life is too precious and full of exceptional things and people and places. I still feel sad sometimes, and that's okay. Two of the most important women in my life are missing from this mortal coil. Of course my heart still hurts. I miss them literally every minute of every day. 

I find it's easy to talk about Big Mar with genuine joy. Memories of her that pop up on Facebook make me smile, laugh, and give me the warm feels. I'm trying really hard to normalize talking about Toni without crying. It's a lot tougher with her than my Mom, but I'm getting better. I've been scattering her ashes at some of her favorite places like LBI, where she got married, and the two excursions on my recent Outlaw Country cruise. Sometimes I've cried spreading her ashes, and sometimes I felt okay. 

Grief is weird. Full stop. 

When her beloved husband and soulmate died in 2014, she had both of their wedding bands made into a bracelet of interlocking hearts. She wore it every day. When Toni was settled in her hospice room, she took it off and gave it to me. The night she told me she was sick, I asked her if I could have the bracelet to remind me of her and Art. I, too, never take it off. Every day I wake up with my cherished sister on my arm. 

 

 Toni was my buddy, my partner in crime, my dear friend as well as my sister. I will miss her every minute of every day, but I'm eternally grateful for the life we shared together. Hug your people every day, man. A future with them is never guaranteed.