Tick-tock, Baby

On a beautiful, crisp day in October of 2020, my nephew went for a motorcycle ride with some friends. The other three men slept in their beds that night. Sean never made it home, or even to a hospital. He was alive and then he wasn’t. Just like that.

Tick-tock.

Sean’s mom, my favorite sibling, never recovered. A big piece of her was lost with her baby, and she didn’t have the heart to look for it. Less than six months later, she was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer and three weeks after her diagnosis, she died.

Tick-fucking-tock.

My niece—Sean’s big sister—was in the exact kind of pain you’d imagine. Lisa is officially my niece, but she’s just a year younger than me and our relationship is that of sisters. She and I have seen each other through everything for six decades, and we clung to each other through that horrible time. We did all the things—we ached and cried and lashed out in anger and cried some more—and through that we found each other’s pieces that had gone missing. We reassembled each other, much like my sister had done for me after our mother’s death when I was 16. We’ll never be the same, but we’re okay.

Tick-tock.

But wait, there’s more. I’m the youngest of five, with a two-decade span between the birth of the firstborn and my birth. Two of my siblings never married or had children and as they aged, I played an increasingly large role in advocating their healthcare and other things. The brother nearest my age had been ailing for many years, each year stealing a bit more of his ability to live well. Hospitals, surgeries, recoveries, setbacks. Finally, hospice. He passed the week after the sister I spoke of above got her diagnosis.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Our oldest sister, unarguably the kindest of us, had been losing little bits of herself to dementia for 15 years. As her disease progressed and memories faded, it was odd to note the ones that remained. She’d always loved ice cream, so we brought some every time we visited. One time, when her recognition of those she’d loved most had dropped to only very occasionally, she stopped mid-sip of a chocolate shake and said, “I shouldn’t be drinking this. I’m such a pig.” Oh, the terrible things we tell ourselves. On another visit, she suddenly remembered me. She held my face between her hands, looked into my eyes, and said, “Beth! Beth! You were such a good baby! You were a good little girl and a good teenager (chalk that good teenager part up to either her failing memory or her enormous kindness), and you’re a good woman.” In time, we became just nice people who brought her ice cream. She died peacefully, a year and three months after two of her siblings.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

Two of my parents’ children remain. He and I see the world very differently. We share DNA and history, but not much else. We’d agree that we love each other. We’d also, if we were being fully forthright, agree that we don’t like each other. And that’s okay. Life is way too short and also way too long to spend it butting heads, so we mostly stay in neutral corners. Our houses are 15 miles apart. We live on different planets.

Tick-tock.

As I write this, Lisa and her husband are touring Europe. It’s a trip she’s wanted to take since we were little girls but until the unfolding of the past few years, she’s always found a reason to postpone it to the blurry mist of someday. By the time I post this three days from now, she’ll be home, tired, exhilarated, and full of stories. I can’t wait to hear every single one.

Tick-tock, baby. Tick-tock.

~*~*~*~*~*~

(GBE Topic #2: Time)