Allie is eight and a half years older than me.  When I was little I called her “Momma Allie” and she was my second mom all through my childhood.  She gave me a level of unconditional love equal to that of my grandmother.  As the oldest, she regulated all sibling disputes.  She’d take me down to get pizza if our parents were fighting at home.  She designed a shower schedule for our family of six and one bathroom.  She gave me the “stealing is bad” talk when I was four or five and took her plastic windmill and hid in my closet.

So I remember the moment she told us she was sick.  I remember where I was, what I was doing, the way my screen looked when I read the text message.  I don’t remember the day we found out it was breast cancer (February 29), because that came later.  But I remember gripping my bathroom sink as I tried to steady myself on that day in late January.

As I prepared myself to write this post, I thought it was those details I wanted to tell.  I thought it was being honest about the anguish.  Allie once told me that she knew other women had big reactions to her cancer because it reminded them of their own mortality.  But to me, Allie getting cancer was one of the worst things that could happen in my world - my own diagnosis would have been easier.  We center the story around the person diagnosed, as we should.  But those of us who love them - maybe we’re not dying, but it doesn’t change how our entire worlds have crumbled with the news.  And as I thought about all those details, it sent me spiraling.  I live with the knowledge that our time together is limited, and sometimes the starkness is too much to bear.

Allie has always been one of the strongest people I know.  Growing up, I used to say that this 5’4” 5’5” (excuse me) skinny chick was the only person I would never pick a fight with (I’m 6’0”).  And while I had never seen her so scared, she faced this new way of life with the tenacity that is so innate to her.  Above all, Allie decided to live. Decisions are made around creating the best life for her, her husband, her children, and her dog(s) (RIP Gipp).  She continues to seek adventure - modified for her physical limitations.  She wants to see the world.  She travels to be with her family.  And if I am to respect and love her as I always have, I view her life the same way she does.  I believe the words coming out of her mouth, and not what I think.  My sister is dying.  That’s a fact, but not the motivation.  She is still the badass I have always known, and that’s what is important. 

That doesn’t change all the feelings involved.  There is something to be said for holding some of the worst knowledge you could have and not letting it decide how you react.  I have learned that my feelings are important, valid, and have the right to be expressed and processed, and that my feelings are NOT my sister’s - and are also NOT my sister’s responsibility.  I don’t often talk about how I feel about Allie’s illness with my immediate family members because all of us are dealing with it in our own way, and none of us the same.  So I keep it for my friends and my therapist.  And when Allie is having a hard time, I give her space.  The winter holidays are also her anniversary time, so when she’s more tense and has a shorter temper at Christmas, I just let it be. Above all, we tell each other we love each other every time we speak.

As we approach her 5 year cancerversary, maybe the question isn’t so much how hard it has been, but more about what I have learned and gained from this experience.  What has been incredible since her diagnosis is the change in our relationship.  We started talking multiple times a week.  We made a “no secrets” oath around family health or other important pieces of our lives.  She became my best friend.  Her children count on me showing up for Christmas (and to catch Santa Claus in action, which I have failed to do THREE YEARS IN A ROW).  I told her to count me in on all family vacations (once, you know, we can travel again).

I have always valued being close to my family, but time is an asset I now better understand.  Sure, it’s finite.  But that’s not the point. It’s not a ticking clock, or a sense of pressure.   Instead it’s a decision to buy two tickets to see Trevor Noah live in Detroit, and Allie flying up to use the extra one.  It’s sitting around the kitchen for hours on end.  It’s relaxing, chasing the little ones, playing card games, and being present.  It’s saying I love you every chance we get.

Song of the week: Coming Down by Kwamie Liv