This isn't the post I'd intended: a playful little shockeroo I thought I might have to pull the next day.
I learned one of my sisters had died yesterday and 'intimations of mortality' suddenly struck on home ground. Both my parents had died. I'd lost uncles and aunts, grandparents, cousins, teachers, favorite actors and writers....But death had never touched one of my brothers or sisters. And even though some of us had grown estranged, we could still whistle in the dark with some security, believing our circle of six remained charmed.
The circle has been broken now. And now I see that I was blind in my belief that it was charmed.
My sister's name was Cher. And she had a remarkable life: falling from the heights of an almost Gatsby-like existence (summer and winter homes, golf and dinner with the poobahs)...to a long and painful crash...to a courageous rebirth. The banker's wife remarried and joined an even higher class--of caretakers. As she'd been cared for when she fell, she looked after the old and infirm. She loved her new work and was said to excel.
Now, demons love to play with us. And there may have been mornings when her heart ached with remembrance of all she had lost. But let me tell you what I know. If ever the demons did whisper, she would have remembered the people she helped, the family and friends she'd been blessed with. And she would have answered the whispers with this:
A high sun shines upon this day and I will not betray it. I'll give thanks for the work I've been privileged to do and thanks for the love I'm still able to give.
I loved her. I miss her. And I'm torn in two because just before I got the news I'd been heading to buy, write and send her a card, getting in touch after nearly six years. It's too late now. But it isn't too late to say the words she must have said...the lovely blonde who crashed and rose:
A high sun shines upon this day and I will not betray it.
Reporting for duty: the Real Reb MacRath...in the front lines with you all...taking bigger baby steps toward infusing my soul with a bit more largesse.