Dear Diary.
The day I learned my sister had died, I felt loss, I felt as if it were a cruel joke. Who was playing that joke, who the hell knows. Most importantly I felt, relieved?
We had just traveled to Ponyville to visit my sister, who'd been moved into transitional care. End of life stuff, and we wanted to say goodbye. She was after all family. After arriving we went to her room. She wasn't in good shape, she was wheezing and her breath came in loud rattles. I felt uncomfortable, scared and more than anything distressed. While my parents went in to see her I stayed back and cried outside the room, trying to be as inconspicuous. But I was a dark teal pony with a golden mane and tail. I didn't exactly blend in with the off white walls and somber upholstery. I could hear my parents crooning and fussing over her.
My sister had been diagnosed with mammary cancer quite a few years back. They'd removed the tumor, but it had spread. She'd known there was a lump in there for a while, but didn't have the bits to afford the money for the tests. So she waited until she got a better job. When she did, it was too late. The tumor had been growing for over seven years.
I'd lived with her for a while, helping her with chores, making sure she put her patches of medicine on. It wasn't fun work, but it sure was interesting. She used to live out on the planes, where storms raged in the summer and ever night there was a fear of a twister touching down. I didn't like that risk, and I didn't like how close some of the warnings came. One nice thing was every night, there was a lot of lightning and thunder. That's something I remember really liking about the place.
While at the transitional care unit, I saw some older ponies, seniors enjoying life, laughing and going from room to room visiting friends. My sister was so unwell she wasn't conscious while we were there. She looked awful to say the least. I managed to pull my big girl pants on and go in, despite being afraid of what I would see, death and I have never had much of a good relationship. It scares me from an outside perspective, but I'm not personally afraid to die.
Anyways...
While we were there, me and my family... I didn't go in while my mom was there, because it felt like an invasion of privacy. Like, my mother needed to be alone with my sister to get her own closure and be her mommy. I didn't want to violate that, or be a part of it. It felt wrong. So me and my dad stayed behind and talked. The staff were nice, but almost sickly sorry for our situation. It bothered me, how overly cautious they were in what they said and did. As if at the mention of death we'd crack like precious china plates. I found that to be my biggest discomfort after the whole... Transitional care unit environment.
After an hour we finally said our goodbyes to my sister, saying we'd hope to visit again tomorrow. I rubbed her hoof with mine, and managed to say in a shaky voice. "Goodbye"
We never did manage to go back the next day. We were so tired from our trip from the south we had to recover, we could barely get out of our beds.
The next morning, we got a letter from my sisters friend. Telling us she'd passed away late the night before. She'd gone in her sleep and peacefully. Or as peacefully as can happen after nearly a decade of disease.
We were all stunned, my mother was clearly upset, but she didn't want us to know. My dad was shaken but, okay? I was okay too. I cried, I couldn't help it as much as I wanted to be strong for my family.
The next thing was contacting friends and family of her passing. We couldn't write the notes fast enough, and our hooves hurt after all that writing. I started keeping a diary about how the days went, and how I felt going forward, It was usually the same. I felt hollow, like it wasn't real. But I knew it was real, we all knew it. Nothing we did, said or wished for would bring her back.
Later that morning her friend came by to visit, to console us, and give us her last wishes. Luckily there wasn't too much, just a couple of things. We tightened those things up with her friend and got straight a couple of things. We would clean her house, getting it ready to sell and also get sorted anything else in the house. Like food, kitchen stuff. Anything that could be useful to us we were given explicit directions to take what we could use. Needless to say, my sister liked to cook, and had excellent taste in kitchen wares.
At the end of the day, after my mom went to sign funeral papers, to get her cremated. We all had a period of time where we sat and talked about her, stories of things she did, people she knew and how she effected them. Some were funny, some were sad, some were down right upsetting. But after that day of sadness. We realized we were glad she was no longer in pain.
At the end of the day, it still feels unreal. It feels like a sick joke, and like perhaps she faked her own death. Since we didn't see her, or her remains. We can always hope she made a swift getaway and is living somewhere more comfortable away from those drab rooms and tacky seat coverings. We can hope, but we know that's not possible.
We know at she's gone and will no longer be in pain or suffer.