Sorry About the Holes

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you: “Sorry About the Holes.”

I am Sara's sister. She married my brother when I was a kid and now in my lifetime she has been my sister longer than she hasn't been my sister. 

To all the readers: I am going to throw away my Minnesotan tendencies and be straight-forward by telling you that I am not writing this for you.  I am writing this for Sara, my amazing sister. Sara this is all for you. If the rest of you want to keep on reading, I guess that is ok, too.

You asked me to write this about a year ago.  I have written, deleted, and rewritten this more times than I can count. I have written it out loud on long drives. I have thought about it during the nights when I can't sleep. I have read and re read every thing that you write. I think about you and your pain more than you could possibly know about.  I am not very open about my feelings because no matter what situation I am in, I view my problems as the least important in the room.  But I thought I'd share my thoughts of you now.

Flash back to your wedding day. I was 12.  You were laughing and telling me to eat more cake. I bought a slow dance with you for a dollar and it made me more happy than I can describe.  I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much. 

Flash to when T was a baby and we were making Thanksgiving dinner. I was a teenager. I asked what the white foam was in the pot of potatoes. You said starch and tried explaining what starch was by saying, "You know, it's that starchy stuff."  I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much. 

Flash to T's 3rd ish birthday (maybe it was 2nd?). Having a birthday party at your place. I was still a teen. One of our sister's is going to bring a new boyfriend. You had made letter cookies so we could all spell out our names and decorate them.  You didn't know the new boyfriend's name, so you made letters to spell "Friend." You told me this and I think that may have been one of the hardest I have laughed. This fact now made extra awesome because he ended up becoming our brother-in-law. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much. 

Flash to when you are first diagnosed with cancer. I am 16.  I wasn't really informed for several months.  You constantly said that it was no big deal, that it was completely treatable.  I never knew you had surgery until well after you had already recovered from it.  I began to freak out. I didn't fully understand what you had or what treatments you were getting.  I only related cancer with immediate death.  I thought that you were too calm. I thought that you should be freaking out on the outside as much as I was on the inside.  I decided that I should move in and raise the kids.  Too bad high school got in the way of that decision.  You were always optimistic.  You assured me that you were fine. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much. 

Flash to when you were trying to get pregnant with your third child.  I was 18. I cried for hours and hours at a play practice that one day when that really bad thing happened to you. I was convinced that it was because of your treatment. I was convinced that your body must have given up on life. I thought that you were actually much worse off than you were admitting to me. I again decided that I needed to move in and raise the kids.  Too bad college got in the way of that decision.  You got pregnant with your third kid. You continued to be happy and we continued to laugh every time we talked.  I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much. 

Flash to a few years later on Halloween.  I was 20.  You had gone through chemo and were too radioactive to be around the kids, so you were staying at a hotel.  We met up and ate dinner and laughed like we always do. I believe that will always be my most favorite Halloween.  I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much. 

Flash to a few years later when we are chatting on your couch. I am 22. You tell me that you don't like telling other parents that you have cancer because "my cancer is not serious. It's not like it's going to kill me. Other types of cancers are much worse.  I shouldn't get an award for my cancer."  I have a realization in that moment.  I realize that you do the same thing that I do. No matter what situation you are in, you belittle your problems because other people are more important. Later that night, I decide that from now on, I am going to help you before you even ask for it. I am going to comfort you even when you insist that nothing is wrong. I'll babysit at the drop of a hat. I'll bring you soup when you mention that you are sick. I'll call you frequently just to chat. I'll take all the kids to the fair so you can have free time. I'll sleep over so you can go black Friday shopping at 4 am.  Whatever I think you might need, I am going to do it immediately. I was working about 70 hours per week and going through some hard times that I never told you about, but none of that mattered.  Only you mattered.  I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much. 

Flash to a year later.  I am 23.  We are sitting on stools and there are kids all around us, begging to play with me and using me as a jungle gym. You tell me that you have a second type of cancer.  This information hits me like a semi truck.  I am completely crushed inside and want to burst into tears. But you are being very calm and so I try my best to copy.  But for the first time in my life, I hear the slightest fear in your voice. This terrifies me.  I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much. I research everything about your cancer that I can possibly get my hands on.  Suddenly all of my thoughts shift. I was planning to move to a different state in a month. But how can I do that now? All of my babysitting time needs to quadruple at least. I should clean your house every day. Maybe I should move in next door. I end up postponing moving for a few more months as guilt begins to eat away at me. How could I be so selfish as to move away? What would you do without me there?  A few months later I get a call at midnight asking me to come watch the kids so that you can go to the ER. Of course I will come over, this never even needs to be a question. I end up watching the kids a lot that week and even bringing them to the hospital to visit you.  The kids and I make about 100 paper frogs and bring them to you so that you can always have a whole batch of friends with you even when we are not there.  We make a "Welcome Home" sign and I tack it on the wall before I realize that there are no holes in your beautifully painted wall, but I just put in about 10 holes, so now I feel terrible. These holes are obviously a metaphor for other things that I feel more guilty about. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.

A short time later I ask you about your adventures in Chile. You tell me so many wonderful stories including cactus slaps and air hugs. You speak of your travels with such fondness. Although you do not know it, this conversation gives me the courage to move. I see the passion for life in your eyes. I hear the happiness in your voice. I feel the hope for the future in your heart.  I realize that you have more strength than I do and more than I can give you. Although you occasionally doubt yourself, I definitely never doubt you. I know you can do this. I know you will make it through.

Flash to present day. I am 24. I currently live across the country from you.  My heart reaches out to you every day through the holes I put in your wall.  But don't worry Sara my starchy sister. I'll be back soon. Because you are the funniest, prettiest person that I know. I am so proud of all that you do. I love you with more than all of my heart and will always look up to you.