September 12, 2010
My mother bore the news. My sister, Tara, was quiet. Maman read off the results of the blood tests, then the notes from the liver biopsy. Tara sank into a silent seat. Maman folded hospital papers, describing a disease with too many fancy titles to signify what it truly meant. Tara opened her sketchbook and ignored us.
I was silent.
I watched the wrist curl and the muscles convulse in her right hand. I stared hard when she had to drop the leaking pen, fighting her aching joints. I let her massage her skeletal hand in fear. I dropped the familiar cocktail of medications into a napkin and handed it over too fast. Multicolored capsules cascaded into her lap. I scrambled to pick them up, jumping halfway out of my crawling skin when Tara stroked my arm to settle me. She looked at me softly - as though I was the one who hurt.
My darling, I wish I had spoken. I wish I had said everything I was burning to say.
I would have liked to be less of the person that I was, and more of the person that you needed me to be. I wish I had told you: the sickness didn’t matter. I want to have said, then, how much I love you. I wish you could know now how much I still need you. I wish you understood everything you are to me.
I want to change that moment. Because I want you to know: I would never change you.

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GemValley250 said...
Sept. 14, 2010 at 2:55 pm

That was a very upsetting piece; your emotions just leapt off the page. :( You obviously really love your sister.

Just a little curious about SLE. What is it exactly?

Would you mind taking a look at my story, Exaggeration? I'd appreciate any advise! Keep writing and I'll keep reading!:)

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