I've been all wigged out about my 50th birthday coming up on Tuesday (the 29th) and now, all the angst has shrunk to near nothing because my sister, 18 months younger than I, lay dying, across the country, surrounded by my family and lifelong friends. For a variety of reasons, including the committment to bring in life, I am holding vigil here in San Diego. Holding the space.
Amy's been sick for a very long time, so even in denial, her dying isn't a total shock. It's awful and painful and excruciatingly sad, mainly because she's leaving two girls who don't have fathers in their lives. I am in that place of "What more could I have done?" The real answer is, "Nothing." And that's sad, too.
So, I'm supposed to be writing a piece for my birthday... I interviewed J.D. Kleinke, the author of "Catching Babies" and am supposed to be working on that, too... and a slew of many other pieces that are partly/half-ly written. But I'm not.
Add to that, some window opened and allowed an awful virus into my computer and now most of my photos are gone. I've got someone set to do a Search & Rescue Monday, but I have to say, as devastating as this would have been a week ago, it pales in importance to sitting quietly and "talking" to my sister who's barely alive on a ventilator and who's organs are failing, two at a time. I just can't get that upset about it anymore.
My birthday piece might have to wait. Will probably have to wait. Know, though, that it's finding form somewhere deep inside... in places that aren't crying. And that isn't a whole lot of places right now.
My baby sister Amy and her precious daughters.