Another D-Day

Funny how these dates sneak up on you. Five years ago today, Carrie was diagnosed with leukemia. Now, everything dates back from her death. I think "Oh, Sept 28 2001, that was one year, nine months, and eight days before July 6 2003." But it wasn't like that at the time. She was diagnosed, and the initial reaction was "How can I help? How will she beat it?" Just another obstacle to overcome. At that time, the horizon stretched out to cover her entire life. High school, college, early twenties. Carrie and I were to have been adult siblings. I would visit her in college, maybe go on a road trip with her when she moved into her dorm. After college, we'd both find jobs, maybe live far away from our parents, but close enough to each other. Possibly on the east coast. As we grew older, we'd get married, have kids, etc, and our kids would play together, much like I played with my cousins. On that day in September five years ago, I didn't even think about the future this concretely, but it was there, laid out, just waiting for us. The next two years were just a drop in the bucket.

My, how things change. As it is, I'll be getting married next year, and Carrie won't be there to celebrate it. At least she got to know Nicole, and for that I'll always be thankful. We're not living on the east coast; instead, somehow I found myself way out west while my sister, the restless spirit, is permanently parked only a few miles from home. No doubt she'll be there even long after Nordstrom's is no longer across the street. Well, that, or her spirit permeated those helium balloons three years ago and escaped to explore the world. I kind of like that idea better. Scott goes through high school without his older sister's dead-on advice. He's growing up fast (already a junior! Yikes!) Nora encounters seventh grade, brave and sensible, but without Carrie there to lean on. Watching Nora, I think about Carrie's hard times in seventh and eighth grade. What for most people is a distant memory when they are adults was instead for Carrie a mere five years before death. Of course, we didn't see that at the time. Funny how the math works out.

Now my family is going through another crisis. My aunt Patty waits for a heart. They are doing everything they can to help her in this. I have faith that she will get one soon enough, and her ticker will supply her veings with blood for decades to come. Many of these memories come flooding back when I read about Patty, and I recall the terribly complicated choices, the loooong hospital visits, the discomfort and pain Carrie suffered through, the stupid drugs and sometimes distracted doctors. I'm so glad to see her immediate family bear as much of it as they can, and the rest of us try to do what we can to help as well. Ironically, it's times like these that I really miss Carrie, and the perspective she could bring, possibly in the form of a well-placed-yet-somehow-broadly-reflective sarcastic remark.

It's not like she's completely gone. I can tell by the consistent daily hits to this site (rough average: 10 unique visitors per day) that she is in the thoughts and hearts of so many people still, even more than three years later. But still, it's a huge hole. Funny how when she was sick, it seemed like death was a possibility, and a terrible one, but I didn't quite fathom just how long it would last. My dad lost his brother when he was the same age that I lost Carrie. I think because I didn't see my dad ever visibly sad about it, I somehow assumed that people just "got over it". But that's not right. People learn to cope with a world that is forever changed because they have to, not because they want to. I don't think people just "get over" a loss like this - they just learn to cope. Carrie had a tremendous influence, nobody will dispute that, and I'm glad to know that my sister lives on in the memories of lots of people. But it still sucks.

Well, Carrie's memory fades a bit as the time passes. Guess that's just the truth of it, the part that hurts the most - that no matter what you do, time just passes, that's how it is. I am thankful for this site, for all the people who have posted on it and made it a reality. It's wonderful to be able to remember her like this. I'm happy to have the support of the family and community. Thanks to everyone out there reading this for coming here and reading it. Feel free to post your own comments/memories/whatever, or just send an email. Even out in Seattle, I can feel the warmth and care emanating from Chicago and elsewhere, and I don't think it's just the laptop battery overheating. At least we all have each other, listening, reading, and watching out.