Misery

One year ago today M.'s second oldest sister passed away. She was her closest sister and my closest in-law. We all learned of her sickness when it was already late. The report of the tests she went through was conclusive, terrible, the worst imaginable. As usual in such cases only stretching her quality of life as long as possible was unfortunately the main purpose, something to ensure during the days to come through painkillers and protocolized medical trealment.

I remember the first time we met after the news was broken. The shock of the tragic revelation, persistent, obstinate, was well nigh impossible to remove from any action we took, however trivial. It was early spring. She was by then living on her own in a small apartment in a seaside resort, a forced move after a bitter divorce. The place remains markedly deserted for the most part of the year, aside from summer, perhaps a spirits-dropping situation. We went out to dinner to entertain her and to try to stop thinking about her condition if only for a few hours. Back at her place we were alone for a while and she talked to me of her illness and her fear. She cried. At some point all the lights went out. After a casual remark of surprise on this fact we remained silent in the darkness. It was a most metaphorical circumstance, sorrow itself, a miserable stretch of time I will never forget.

We miss her. It still seems as if it had never happened.