Death and a Birthmark
Losing my sister pulled the details into focus
I’ll never forget the day before my life changed. It was October 3rd, 2022. I was standing in my kitchen and had a brief moment of reflection.
“You know… life is pretty good for me right now, I’m making decent money, I like my job, my girlfriend is moving in soon… I honestly cannot complain,” I said to myself while the rice was cooking. I honestly feel it was at that point, that the energy I was feeling triggered the calamity committee to set in motion one of the two most traumatic events I have experienced in my 41 years of life. The next day, I got a message from my sister’s friend.
“Jim, your sister is not doing well. She’s in the hospital, it’s something with her liver.” Fuck. My sister has been battling cancer for 4 years, but it was something that was trending upwards. However, this was soon revealed otherwise. I was mentally scrambling. “There’s no possibility my sister can die. She’s never died before! She’s 44 years old! She’s got two children. They need her!” My internal monologues were chaotic. There’s something about the stages of grief. In retrospect, I was most certainly in the deepest state of denial.
I was taking the bus from Brooklyn out to Northern Jersey to visit her in the hospital. It was the longest and shortest ride of my life. My phone could only distract me for so long. When I got there I went straight up to her room. Everyone else in the room faded out. It was just her and I. She was in the twilight before passing on. Somewhat lucid, somewhat incoherent. I kept making jokes about our childhood, something only she and I could understand. I’ve known her longer than anyone else on the planet, I had to make this count. The silver lining of knowing someone is going to die is you can have those last words with them. I count my lucky stars the calamity committee granted me that. They’ve been less than forgiving the past few days. “I love you, sister.” Rolled out of my mouth. She replied in kind. “I love you too, Jimmy.” She was the only person to call me “Jimmy.” I went by “Jim” from 12 years old and on. But she had a pass. She knew me from the beginning.
That night, and every night for the next 3 months following, I didn’t sleep unless there was some measure of alcohol in my veins. It was the only way to keep the tidal waves of despair and anxiety that crashed around me. I woke up to a text from her friend.
“You need to get out to the hospice, today is going to be the day.” October 7th, 2022. My friend was able to spring for an Uber out there, had it not been for her… I would have missed my sister’s last moments on planet Earth. What I was about to witness marked my life in two moments, before and after.
I’ve seen a dead body before. I found my grandmother on the kitchen floor when I was 9 years old. I think I was too young to process the gravity of the situation. October 7th was going to be the day I added another person to that list.
The hospice room had all of the trappings that represented my sister. Pictures of her kids, and her husband. The song “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” played on repeat. I distinctly remember the energy in the room of trying to laugh through the pain. Knowing that eventually the reckoning of her passing we would all have to grapple.
I sat next to her, my heart was slowly sinking into my shoes. My arms felt like slabs of concrete as I mustered every ounce to hold her hand. I felt the tears cascading down my face. My sister, the one person who was at my side throughout my whole life — was about to lose hers.
I vividly remember seeing my sister’s birthmark next to her right eye. It’s so strange the things you remember in those bleak moments. A birthmark. I gave her the few words I could get out. There were millions of things I wanted to tell her. But all those thoughts bottlenecked right at my mouth. I told her I loved her and kissed her on the forehead. It was at that moment… my life became different.
It’s been over a year since she went up to the sky. And I’ve had death give me a Ted Talk about life and I now walk in different shoes, laced up with the perspective of empathy. I do my best to shield people from the pain I see. I dropped so many resentments, and beefs I had. They stopped mattering to me.
I also take my dreams far more seriously than I ever had before in my life. I see my sister sometimes looking down, cheering me on with every submission, every stand-up tape I send out, and every show I perform on. I don’t know how much time I have, so I damn sure better leave it with every passion and flame that makes my soul feel alive.
