Tough Times
We flew home to Wisconsin yesterday. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was abandoning my sister.
Sure, it was often hard to be at her home–it’s where she died and I kept bumping into sad-sweet memories of when Meg, John and Mother were all alive. But, at her house, I also felt like I was still in Meg’s life and could do something for her by taking care of things–cleaning, finishing her laundry and weeding the fabulous tropical courtyard surrounding her pool.
I can’t say I miss the lawyer/business partner meetings. Not one bit. One of the lawyers has an office above a clinic with a sign advertising colonic cleansing. I told mister esquire that was pretty funny. He didn’t laugh.
Meg had a photo she’d taken of a gross, grown-up John, looking straight at the camera, mouth gaping and full of partially chewed food. When they were kids, he could always get Meg’s goat doing this. “Ewww…you’re sick, John,” she’d wail. Mother, of course, was appalled. If you could look past the nasty food in the photo, John’s eyes were twinkling.
About a year ago, I framed a favorite photo of Meg and John as young adults, sitting together on a sofa, healthy and happy. John was making a crazy face and Meg was giving him “devil horns” with her fingers behind his head.
It’s weird that I’m the only one left. I was nine when Meg was born, 12 when John showed up. When I was a teenager, they’d call me the “dowager sister.”
Blowing Smoke
I don’t like the full-blown return of my smoking habit. I want to set a quit date. But right now, I can’t think past today.
