Last night, I dreamt of my sister Kaye. And I woke up with an ache in my heart that felt inconsolable.
Again.
My sister died of COVID. We didn’t get to spend time with her while she was in ICU. We didn’t get a chance to hold her and comfort her while she was in pain. And when she succumbed to the complications, we didn’t get to say goodbye.
My dream started with a doctor calling me into a room. They asked me to watch over my sister while they checked her labs. Once they left, Kaye got out of the covers and said she was bored. Having been her accomplice of mischief, I helped sneak her out.
We went out towards a courtyard, where we found my brother on top of a jungle gym. We stayed there for a while, goofing around and being children on the swings and the slides. Pretty sure we laughed a lot. Suddenly it got dark and cold, and Kaye said she was tired.
I carried her in my arms as the three of us crossed the courtyard to get her back to her room. The sky suddenly turned red. “Fireworks,” my brother said. “Kaye, look at the fireworks!”
Her eyes were already half closed but she looked up and smiled. And then she shivered. I felt her chill in my bones and knew she was dying then.
I can’t remember what happened next, or if anything else happened, because I was awake bawling my eyes out. I had the chance, but I don’t remember if I managed to say goodbye. Again.
I decided to type this all up because someone said grief needs to be shared to ease the pain. Without wanting to sound melodramatic, the tears have actually been non-stop and I’m still waiting for the relief from this release.
Maybe a part of me wanted to write this all down to capture an alternative history. It’s been two years and a part of me still thinks she’s going to pop out of another dimension off the multiverse and scream “Surprise, I’m back!”
Chill out, folks. I know better.
I’m just… grieving.
thegirlnextshore 