They say that death comes in threes. I guess they're right.
Last week I wrote this:
And I'm feeling numb. Although I haven't seen Mike in nearly 5 years and I haven't spoken to him since before I moved to Chicago, I'm still feeling shell shocked. For obvious reasons, but I also am coming to a realization (after speaking with a close friend who had put her mother in hospice care two days ago) that I've reached that age when my peers and I will start to lose our parents.
A week after Mike passed away my friend called and told me that her mother couldn't fight anymore. This is one of my closest sister-friends. Of the two closest sister friends who are both pregnant sister-friends. The one who's carrying my godbabies (by the by she's having twin girls).
Then just when I thought my heart was as heavy as it could get, I got a call today from the other sister-friend. She went into labor early and her baby boy didn't make it...
My heart is aching for my sisters. Keep them in your prayers.
I've never written about Mike before. I actually didn't really think of him that often, but he was still a huge part of my life, my upbringing and what makes Alice Alice.
Mike was my stepfather. Not my mother's new husband, but my sister's father who was with my mother from the time that I was a baby until I was about 15 years old. They were what we old school Pennsylvanians call Common Law married (although the state stopped recognizing it in 2005). He helped my mother raise me as his daughter, when my own father was off fighting his demons while still respecting that he could never really replace my biological father. Strangely enough he and my father had a great relationship with neither feeling threatened by the other. (I sometimes refer to my mother as a "pimptress" because of her ability to have all of her men get along)
Mike was in no way a perfect man and he began to fight his own "demons" that eventually led to the dissolution of his and my mother's relationship. He wasn't always the best provider, but he was a protector of sorts. He was the person who carried me to bed as a child when I would fall asleep on the sofa while watching Rags to Riches. Mike was the person who kept us safe when parts of South Philly was going through race wars in the late 80's. He was the one who taught my brother, sister and me what it meant to be chivalrous and that I'm to expect a man to always walk on the outside and open doors for me (something that I still take quite seriously. I will totally dump you if you don't know how to walk down the street with me).
When he and my mother split it was understandably traumatic for my family, but because of his impact, my siblings and I still maintained a relationship with him. My brother died a few months after they broke up and Mike was there to support and grieve with us. A few years after that Mike moved in and had two children with some woman who felt threatened by the bond that he and my mother once had. She told him that my sister (who was 16 at the time) was no longer welcome in their home (because this grown woman thought that my teenage sister was "plotting against her"... totally NOT the case, but I digress) and she told Mike that she would take his sons away from him if he continued to bring his daughter around. Mike, still fighting his demons and proving that he was less than perfect actually told my sister that she wasn't allowed in his home, thus ruining their relationship. He hurt my sister and she loathed him and refused to speak to him for more than 15 years. My mother wasn't that jazzed about him either and with my brother gone, I was his only connection to his former family. We wouldn't talk that often, maybe once a year, but we still maintained a bond.
Suddenly a few months ago Mike was coming around more often and my sister decided to let go of the hate that she harbored for so long. She still wasn't ready to go back to life circa 1991, but she would at least talk to him. Then yesterday my sister called to tell me that Mike was dead. He was sick and no one knew it and he died in a suburban Philadelphia hospital.
And I'm feeling numb. Although I haven't seen Mike in nearly 5 years and I haven't spoken to him since before I moved to Chicago, I'm still feeling shell shocked. For obvious reasons, but I also am coming to a realization (after speaking with a close friend who had put her mother in hospice care two days ago) that I've reached that age when my peers and I will start to lose our parents.
And I'm not ready.
I talked to my mom after I hung up with my sister and she's feeling pretty numb as well. Although she's happily married and had general ill feelings toward Mike because of how their union ended, she still loved him and has some good memories stored within her. I called my father to let him know because I knew that he would hear it through the grapevine. He was in the supermarket at the deli counter at the time, so telling him was reminiscent of Jackie telling Auntie Barbara that her dad died:
And since yesterday I've just been processing it all. Crying as I think of the good times, laughing when I think of the good times and overall, just processing...
1 packet of sweetener (I prefer Equal because Splenda is weird and Sweet n Low makes everything taste like toothpaste)
If you need instructions for this drink, you should not be drinking coffee nor alcohol. tyvm.
My sister is in the hospital. 2 days ago she had an abscess in her mouth that became extremely infected and threatened to block her airways. After visiting the ER they admitted her and performed emergency surgery. She hasn't woken up yet.
They say that it's normal and that she's fine. She's just sedated because of the breathing tube but she'll be just fine. They say that in the morning they'll remove the breathing tube and she will wake up and other than not being able to speak immediately, she'll be just fine. So why can't I stop crying? I mean I know why, but since all you guys know is that I loathe crying you may not really understand.
My sister and I are 17 months apart in age. One would think that we'd grow up as thick as thieves. But one would be wrong. While we were close (sharing a bedroom for 15 years tends to MAKE you close, at least in proximity) but all through childhood we fought like cats and dogs. Hell, we didn't even start getting along until about 3 or 4 years ago. Yes I'm 32. Do the math.
I'm not exactly sure what our problems were. I mean everything would stem from something minor but it would always end with an all out knock down drag out fight as if we were strangers in the street and a bitch just spat on you. I mean, I loved my sister, but I think it was more out of obligation and a shared bloodline than anything else, because I sure as hell didn't like her. She was mean. And stubborn. And angry. And just not friggin' nice. Then suddenly something just clicked and changed. We just got along. We never talk about it (although my mother has noticed), but it just is. We hang out. Laugh together. Openly love each other. And even when we get into a little bit of a tiff, it's squashed immediately. She actually has a key to my home and is welcome to come and go as she pleases. Even my parents have to call before just coming by. My sister with all of her pride calls on me and counts on me for anything and I can count on her as well. It's crazy, but crazy wonderful.
So seeing my tough sister who I just started this REAL relationship with laying in a hospital room motionless with tubes in her is devastating. I just wish that I could fix her and make her all better so that we can hurry up and continue being the best sisters ever. But I can't.
And it makes me sad. But I know that she will be okay. And as soon as she is, I'll make us a couple of Perk Spots and we'll hang out. Just my sister and me.
