Roseann On: Bittersweet memories
and holding two truths at once
Four days before my sister died, she came to my wedding.
That sentence has always felt impossible to hold in my mind because it contains both one of the happiest days of my life and one of the saddest.
By that point, we knew Carrie’s time was limited, as her health had been declining for some time. My husband and I made the decision, with input from family, to hold a small, intimate family ceremony six months earlier than our original wedding date so we could officially get married while Carrie was still able to be there. That ceremony was only meant for paperwork and immediate family. We did not know if she would make the larger celebration six months later.
But Carrie made it her goal to be there for that larger celebration, and somehow she made it. Four days later, she entered hospice and passed away.
Even now, I carry complicated feelings about that. There is happiness that she reached her goal and that we got to share that milestone together. There is also guilt. Guilt that I watched her health decline to the point where simply attending a wedding required so much effort. Guilt that she spent some of her remaining strength making it to my wedding celebration when she had children of her own who would one day celebrate graduations, weddings, and other milestones without their mom.
At the same time, I am incredibly grateful she was there.
One of my clearest memories from that day comes from one of the most ordinary parts of it: getting ready. We were all gathered in a hotel room with the hairdresser and make-up artist, my wedding party, and Carrie. By that point in her illness, she was too weak to do much more than lie on the bed and watch the activity around her. The hairdresser and make-up artist could see how unwell she was and gently included her in the morning, offering to do her hair and make-up, too.
While everyone was getting ready, I sat beside her and we talked. When it was my turn for hair and makeup, my twin sister took my place so she could have her own conversation with Carrie. Those bed chats were nothing new for us. We had all spent countless hours over the years sitting on beds and talking about life. But this one felt different. It became one of our last memories together.
I have stayed at that same hotel a handful of times since my wedding. I have never gone back to that room, and I do not think I could. Walking through that door would bring back a flood of emotions: sadness, gratitude, guilt, joy, and love all tangled together exactly as they were that day.
It was wonderful to have Carrie there for that milestone, but it is impossible not to think about everything that came after, or rather, everything she never got to experience. She missed so much, not only in my life, but in the lives of her children, her family, and the many people who loved and cared about her.
Part of me still feels guilty Carrie spent so much of her remaining strength getting to my wedding. Another part of me is profoundly grateful because I cannot imagine that day without her.
After all this time, I have come to realize that both feelings can exist together. I am heartbroken by everything she missed. I am grateful for the milestones she reached. I am sad that her story ended so soon afterward.
I will always be thankful that, in the middle of one of the happiest days of my life, I had one more ordinary conversation with my sister. Sometimes those ordinary moments become the memories we treasure most.