I woke before 6am today to find my pillow wet with tears. I'd been dreaming about my sister, something that hadn't happened for several months. Jason tried to comfort me by quietly repeating, "I know." Even though they have been less frequent, every dream is a different variation of the same theme: I suddenly realize that my sister is still alive, and I have forgotten to check on her all these months. This time I dreamed I was visiting a friend in the hospital when I caught a glimpse of someone pushing her in a wheelchair to visit a church member. I couldn't catch her before she went into the room. While she was in there, she wanted to send me a note, asking me to wait for her. Since she couldn't find any paper, she removed the insole from her shoe to write on the back. Even though I waited outside the room, I still somehow missed her before she left. So the tears came as I woke up this morning. The day before we lost my sister that September, I'd woken in a panic at 1:14am and jumped out of bed to go see her before I realized the time. I'd been trying to push back the panic for days. So far, I've only been able to talk about that last day with two people because it's just too hard. I recently wrote a letter to my sister, telling her that I tried to get there in time to tell her goodbye. Because of circumstances beyond my control, I was minutes too late. Even though I'd never driven so fast on her gravel road. We hadn't been told the end would be that soon. But I knew. I knew that I needed to hurry. I suppose a dream interpreter could effortlessly make a connection here. I didn't have profound words stored up that I wish I could have told her in those last moments. We shared so much daily that we knew what the other was thinking. Mom often said that blood ran from one of our veins to the other's. I just wanted more time. Time to sit quietly beside her and remember the million ways she made the world an easier place.

I keep seeing posts that look back at March, 2020. The beginning of such trying times for everyone. The impact on lives was immeasurable, from healthcare workers to those who lost loved ones. In our little corner of the world, I was unravelling a bit. Jason checked most of the boxes of the high risk factors. His doctors urged caution at every turn. Along with the fear of losing him, I carried the added concern that he would end up alone and afraid at the hospital. I pictured him hooked up to a ventilator, wondering where he was. Wondering where I was. When he was transferred to a hospital in Kansas City after his brain injury in 2008, I was not allowed to spend the nights at this facility. What followed was a continual stream of overnight/early morning phone calls from nurses, informing me that he'd fallen. Because of his short-term memory loss, he would get out of bed and set off for the bathroom, forgetting that he was unable to walk at this time. I felt helpless to protect him when he was at his most vulnerable. In the years that have followed, I've tried to fulfill that role, often to the point of being overprotective. This resulted in my extreme caution during the height of COVID. I'm certain that many around me found it excessive, to say the least. Eli had stayed home after spring break when his college transitioned to online learning. Leah was finishing her last year of high school. When you are young and dating, you rather enjoy spending time together. They were unfailingly patient and respected each of my whims, no matter how bizarre they must have seemed. Even though the forced distance was incredibly difficult for them, I never witnessed outward sighs or heard whispers of discontent under their breath.