Thursday, June 19, 2014
I Will Comb Your Hair
I adore my sister.
We are like Ernie and Bert: quite opposite.
She is cool. I am a nerd.
She's social. I'm a home-body.
The list goes on.
One deeper difference is I am not afraid of sad. She is.
She won't let me sing Old Shep or Puff the Magic Dragon.
She didn't understand the feelings I shared when a friend was dying.
"Have you ever had something be so sad it is beautiful? Or something so beautiful is breaks your heart?"
"No," she replied.
Last January, my sister spent a week in the hospital was a very severe case of double pneumonia.
I arrived on day 4 of her stay. And for 4 days no one had brushed her long mane of thick hair.
It was a tangle mess!
She was on oxygen, exhausted and felt like absolute hell.
I grabbed the unused fork from her lunch tray and told her I'd comb her hair while she lay there.
It took a long time but it worked! Once finished, I braided her hair and she smiled-ish.
I didn't think much more of that moment in time until a few days ago.
Via Facebook, she was commenting on an image and using words that don't usually come from her, regarding HappySad.
With predictable teasing, I replied, "Is that you?"
She typed: heartbreaking+happy=your sister brushing your hair with a fork.
She gets it.