Goodbye Hello

If you’re surprised to see another post from me… well, me too.

One Saturday night last June, as we were watching a Netflix movie, Helen noticed my sister Susan had just sent her a “wave” on Messenger. I was a bit surprised – Susan didn’t usually send IMs, and we already had a phone conversation that afternoon. Susan was really looking forward to her visit in the fall, she said; one week on a cruise with husband Ed, then staying another week to spend time with Mom. They hadn’t seen each other since Mom, 95, moved closer to me in Jacksonville more than two years earlier.

“I just want to see Mom one more time before she dies,” Susan said.

“No worries,” I replied.  “Mom will outlive both of us.”

Susan’s 2^nd birthday, March 28, 1962.
I must have given her my comb for a
birthday present.

It was a familiar laugh line we both used often. It was our last laugh. An hour after Helen got my sister’s IM, my brother-in-law called.

“I’m at the hospital,” Ed said flatly, in shock. “Susan died. She’s gone.”

Susan and Ed had also been watching a movie at home when Susan got up, walked toward the bathroom and said to Ed, for no apparent reason, “Love ya, big guy.” She made it as far as the hall. The heart attack killed her before she hit the floor. Family and friends were all stunned. Susan, 58, was managing serious medical issues – diabetes, Lupus – but there was no indication of any imminent crisis.

Of the many Facebook condolences I received, one stood out. Charlene Shirk-Mantarro wrote, “The loss of a sibling is life-changing.” Charlene was more insightful than I originally believed. Due to distance and family dynamics, Susan and I had not been especially close. Yet, after responsibility for Mom moved from Susan to me, we’d found a good equilibrium. She was much more relaxed, I was less guarded.

Susan on a cruise - “The loss
of a sibling is life-changing.”

After Susan died, my vision of the world began clearing, and meaning started returning to relationships – reversing trends that climaxed more than a year ago, when I had mentally and emotionally checked out. I started just going through the motions with little substance and no real direction. One casualty was this blog. Who the hell was I to write about life and God, I concluded.  A waste of time. But Susan’s death shook me as a reminder that reality doesn’t go away simply by walking away from it.

If Susan’s death awakened me, a homily by a ridiculously insightful rookie priest generated some inertia. Fr. John Sollee reminded me that all our desires are actually a desire for God – our pursuit of love is really a desire for God’s companionship; our quest for money is our substitute for God’s security; cultivating friendships is our desire for intimacy with God. These are all forward-looking pursuits and, as such, imply hope. Which is what I had abandoned.

And that’s why I’ve returned to the blog.

To generate new and meaningful posts, I have to constantly keep my antenna up for relevant ideas and examples. That’s a forward-looking exercise that implies hope. So I’ll write to nurture hope in my own life.  If someone happens to get anything out of one, all the better. I thank my sister for that.