When Surrender Becomes Victory
The trick is not wishing things were different
My sister has a terrible disease
It’s rare enough that you’ve probably never heard of it. It’s a progressive neurological syndrome, incurable, eventually fatal. Not Parkinson’s, though it has some similarities. I know several people living with Parkinson’s and while that’s a condition I wouldn’t wish on anyone, I’m pretty sure my sister would trade it for her malady any day of the week. In the past three years, it has transformed her from a sweet-natured, witty and vibrant world traveler into a frail invalid who can’t keep track of dates or times or pills but who still has full, tortuous awareness of the magnitude of her loss.
She lives about a five-hour drive from me, and I hadn’t been able to see her in months, of course, because COVID. We can Facetime if her caregiver can help her manage the technology, which isn’t often; the caregivers have many other things to do. Even standard phone calls have become increasingly difficult. But now, with both of us fully vaccinated, I was at last able to take a long weekend and visit her.
“I don’t understand the point of her suffering.”
For one stretch of my long drive, I called (hands-free, natch) the friend with whom I…
