There, I said it. No need for euphemisms now, after visiting and talking to her. Dear, dear sister…
Teresa is 61 years old (the photo is from just a few weeks ago). She was sick last summer but wrote it off to lactose intolerance. By the time she finally had a liver scan and blood work done in May, the malignant tumor on her liver was the size of a canteloupe and had spread to every section of the organ. Her eyes and skin are turning yellow, and liver failure can’t be far away. She hasn’t been able to eat much at all for the last three weeks and is very thin and frail.
My sister is an artist. Her whole life is a work of art. She told me she was glad she didn’t find out about the cancer last summer (when it may have been operable) because that would have made it much more difficult to convince her husband, relatives, and friends that she preferred not “fighting” the disease. She never even had a biopsy and didn’t want one. “I’ve never spent a single night in the hospital,” she said, “and I don’t want to now.”
I can’t imagine life in this world without her. We’re the oldest two of five and always shared the same zeitgeist and cultural experiences. She’s lived in Austin all her life, and I haven’t visited very much, but I did go to U.T. Austin (“Hook ‘em, Horns!”) and also lived here in the early ’70s. So we know what’s what and understand each other very well. She’s an Austin lady, through and through. Everything in her home is beautiful, a work of art. My wife and I have slept beneath her paintings on the wall for decades. Every room of our own house has something of Teresa’s in it.
She says she’s “looking forward to the adventure” and isn’t the least bit afraid. One thing she mentioned from a book about dying is that “it’s perfectly safe,” a statement that definitely bears repeating for the profound truth and comfort it entails. In any case her attitude makes it possible to speak quite frankly and even joke about being dead! (You don’t get this kind of thing with most families, I’ll bet.) This makes it possible to be together in a half-way normal state, although the hugeness of the Mystery about to unfold in all its staggering “LOOK AT ME!” power catches one unawares, and then the conversation ceases for a while…
I’m doing pretty well, considering. Generally, we’re all in great humor, especially with my brother and other sister around. It’s when I’m on the way back to my hotel, walking down the aisle of a supermarket to pick up snacks and juice, that I feel it hit me—last night I almost broke down at the checkout counter. Grieving is one thing I don’t have to think about, of course. The pain will hit me like boulder falling out of the sky, as often as it wants to, as often as I need it.
My siblings and I are playing this by ear. I have no agenda or expectations. I don’t know how soon I’ll come back to Austin or how much time my sister has left among the living. I just know that I will be back, one way or the other, and very soon. It isn’t about me, after all, and that’s what helps the most to realize.
Floating on a raft of love across a sea of grief, we are. Pray for us and pay attention.
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Perfectly all right to comment, by the way. Nothing is forbidden, topic-wise, as I think you all can tell!
I greatly admire Teresa’s attitude in the face of death, and hope that’s how I’ll feel when my time comes. I’d love to see her paintings … does she have a website?
Oh, my…I live in Austin and have bought prints from your sister…it must be her, but I never made the connection until now. I am very sorry to hear this, very sorry, indeed.
Carmel, Teresa used to have a website, but I can’t find it. And I don’t know how many examples of her work were posted there, anyway. I’ll ask her if she has scanned photos and post some if she does.
Mary, I appreciate your comment very much. These are powerful and deeply moving times for everyone. I know I’ll have more to write on the subject.
my sister is an artist in portland oregon. we learned 2 weeks ago that she has stage 4 pancreatic cancer. she has rejected cheom as it would only give her two more weeks. i can’t imagine our world without her. she is talking about “the mystery” also but she weepy days too. how did you get through this in the end and now? our hearts are breaking and i now understand the meaning of having a lump in your throat. my lump is there constantly as i chokde back what this is going to mean – although usually and apparently cheerful as i go through my day. help please.
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