indelible

Sometimes I talk out loud to Leslie. I don't say a lot, mostly because it feels weird, but I have to say things out loud to make it all seem real. 

We had this voice that we used with each other. Somewhat sing-song-y and a lot of pitch, it was our way of greeting one another and now it's gone. M can do it very well and I've asked him to use it but when he does, it's like I've been kicked in the gut. I want it and hate it simultaneously.

Which has become my theme of sorts; the wanting and the hating simultaneously. An intense longing for something that I can't name and a general pissiness that plays out petulantly and often with a lot of tears. 

Everything has changed. Every. Thing. And it's mostly good, really good even, except my sister is dead. And I feel guilty that she's not here and I'm laughing and having fun and she can't do any of these things anymore. I feel guilty because I'm healthy and I'm the biggest hypochondriac whose life-long fear has been cancer. She talked about that, and she actually felt bad that she had cancer, (and it being my biggest fear and all), worrying as she always did, about my feelings, a little sister who loved her big sister with all her heart right to the end. 

It's those images that I wish weren't seared into my brain. That last morning in the hospital when I could barely breathe, having to say goodbye. I don't even know how I did, only that I couldn't stay because it was time to go and that was going to be it. Leslie tried to pull herself out of her heavily drugged state to say goodbye; I felt her struggling to pull herself out, even though drugged is where she needed to be. 

I am forever cracked in my heart, truly broken in a way that seems near impossible, but is surprisly manageable. Maybe because it has to be. Maybe because I do get to live my life and if she can't, than I have to, for both of us.

Forever a big sister, always trying to take care of and watch out for her little.

wings of desire

I'm pretty certain this is what my guardian angel looks like: hot + bad ass. 

I rely on having a guardian angel. Not in an uber conscious way, but I've come to believe that she lets me know she's here when I see numerical combinations, (11:11; 12:12, etc.). It's her way of showing a little bit of notice in the middle of things.

I've been cranky and feeling like a big baby that can't have her way and I'd been unable to shake the feelings until Thursday's acupuncture appointment. 

So many thoughts swirled through my mind as I lay on the table. I noted that the past three treatments haven't been overtly relaxing. I also noted that I've experienced a lot of energy movement and reactions in my body that are familiar in a classic, textbook scenario, but I've never experienced physically. I lay on the table feeling the points kinetic; chattering and releasing, and then finally, an overwhelming need to close my eyes. In the last minutes of the treatment my mind finally relaxed enough to let go and then a rush of energy upwards; energy dispersing and diffusing along the channels, releasing from deep within.

Just as I trust my guardian angel to protect me, I trust that my medicine will heal me by treating the root of my problems, not just a prophylactic bandage that takes away the boo-boo until the next time.

in medias res

 The days blend into one another and I find myself marveling that summer is already half over. I say the day out loud,"Thursday", trying to orient myself with the present and I fill my time with activities and projects, anything really, because the down time oppresses and crushes.

I had acupuncture last week and have scheduled subsequent, weekly, appointments until we leave for NYC. I know my medicine and its benefits, even if I don't love the needles. Am I a hypocrite? I think my dislike of being poked is claustrophobia; I imagine myself like a butterfly specimen, pinned.

After last week's appointment, a layer has been peeled revealing the prickly, angry, edgy self that I've tried to keep at bay. I want company, but I don't want to seek it out. Overly sensitive, I isolate myself and then weep from the loneliness. 

I'm tired and I forget to eat and I've lost weight and then I get paranoid. What does the weight loss mean? My body hurts, it has to be something...and then I remember. My body absorbed so much: stress; anxiety; grief; fear. Even though three weeks seems endless, I have to acknowledge that my time line with my body and its reactions isn't the way it is, just because I want it to be.

a fortnight

"Its been a fortnight..." a friend who lives in England wrote yesterday, inquiring how I've been. 

How have I been?

I've been miserable and hopeless, hate-filled and snarky. I've been joy-filled and spontaneous and I've been on a tear to re-organize, re-purpose and most of all reduce in the way of giving away clothes and books and whatever I can get my hands on. I've imposed a 24 hour delay upon myself; my desire and impulsiveness have led to the misplacing, (and I fear thrown out), of a few things that I'd love to find right about now, but have resigned myself to being gone.

I've been feeling good about how I look, almost to the point of letting it go to my head, which is why I'm writing it here. Saying it out loud brings me back to reality and while I have lost weight, (and inches!!), it isn't just about my body. I've been walking into my closet and opening my drawers, looking at each and every thing that I have and asking myself, 'is this my style statement?" Life is short and I feel like I gave up on myself and feeling good and I'm done with that. 

I haven't cried much which is surprising. And when the tears have come, they barely reach my cheek before they're dried; even my tears are trying to continue forward.  

I'm a raw nub and I'm numb. There's a truth to my conversations, a need to speak about something intense/heavy/unspoken, just so I can feel that zing, something, anything other than anger and annoyance and heavy blues.

I've never been more clear about myself and my boundaries and I'm so alone, even though I'm not lonely. I'm guarded and needy and I'm ready.

So ready, for anything.

urban suburban

While I was away, we celebrated our year anniversary of California living. The timing was such that it serendipitously coincided with the sale of our home back East and with that, severing any ties to the Garden State, holla!

I loved our house and my friends, but super suburban living is not for us. Seventeen miles from downtown Manhattan and it couldn't be any more different; an idyllic life for miss A, but not for us, for very different reasons. M couldn't take the commute anymore - the depressing and crazed ambiance that is rush hour at Penn Station is nothing you've ever experienced until you have. A literal crush of people combined with extreme weather, (super hot and humid summers, freezing winters), the trains have issues and on the very best days, it would take 75 minutes one way. It's pretty hard core when the driving in Los Angeles seems better.

I floundered in the six years of life in our sweet town, I see that now. I was isolated and I'm fairly certain depressed and it took me a long time to acclimate and find a balance that felt comfortable. That said, I found my creative voice again and I had exactly what I wanted, (at the time), with my acupuncture practice. We owned a beautiful home that we remodeled to an ideal for us, and it was good and most likely the last home we'll own. We both really like the idea of not being tied down to a place, even though we feel very much rooted in this community for the long haul, read: Miss A graduates high school. M likes to joke that we're living off the grid, which is ridiculous, but makes me laugh.

Living in New Jersey gave us a glimpse at what we thought we wanted and realized wasn't for us. As much as I love NYC and would have gone back in a red hot minute, Los Angeles suits our family. Miss A had no intention of going back to city living and I'm sure M would have gone, but he also spent over twenty years there and he has said on numerous occasions that he feels like he's done.

Life in Los Angeles is pretty fantastic and much better than I'd imagined, even though it's where I grew up. (Literally, we're back in my home town.) In theory you have a bit more living space and there's the possibility of a house with a yard, even as renters. L.A. is a foodie town and with the abundance of fresh almost year round, I don't take it for granted when I'm eating a nice ripe avocado in the dead of winter. The added bonus of course is that I get the best of both worlds: a suburban life in the middle of a major metropolis.

Even though I haven't made a lot of friends, even though I'm alone equally as much as I was in New Jersey, I'm not lonely. The scent of the sea wafting in our windows, the blue skies and desert terrain combined with the grit and hub that is Los Angeles, provides opportunity everywhere. 

Maybe it's because this is home. There's a familiarity that allows me to navigate freely because the map has been imprinted; roaming and exploring becomes almost secondary.

how to charm me :: jump!

I remember when she first told me about her jump shots and I admit, I didn't get it. I thought it would be embarrassing, (not really), and that people would watch, (they do), and I was fairly certain I wasn't going to jump, until I did.

me and leslie and our first jump. january 2005

And I haven't stopped jumping since.

may the force be with her

modifyremoveorganizepost follow up

Last Monday, I arrived at the hospital about 5:30pm, dinnertime for my sister, and usually a good time for a visit. Over the previous 3 weeks the changes were drastic. I look at photos from her birthday, June 1st, remembering that even then I thought she looked fragile; realizing that in theses photos she looked plump comparatively. 

"Come over here Kiki", she said patting the bed. 

"I want to say goodbye because I'm going to die tomorrow", she said and then she grabbed me with a ferocity that surprised me, her strength permeating her frail frame. I'd learned to ride the words that my sister offered, whatever they were. At the time I thought it was the morphine talking. Leslie's MD had explained about sedation so she wouldn't suffer, a sleep induced coma if you will, and she heard euthanasia. Leslie's nurse and I comforted Leslie, assuring her that this was not going to happen and then Leslie let me baby her the rest of my visit. Fiercely independent, Leslie allowed me to help her in a way that I hadn't been able to help her my entire stay.

We had an amazing visit and it was our last lucid conversation. She really was saying goodbye and I will cherish that moment forever.

My dear sister Leslie, also known as Stripey McDangerpants, passed away at 2:20am July 1st, 2011. It was my supreme honor to have been her sister in this life and I will miss her every day until we're together again.

She loved Star Wars and especially Obi Wan Kenobe. As one of my friends said, "like Obi Wan, she's stronger in the after life" and I'm cherishing that thought, knowing that finally, my sweet sister is no longer suffering.