Family Matters

Did you ever have someone in your life who you loved but who you could be with only in small doses because your personalities didn't quite mesh? My sister Kathy died suddenly the day after Christmas, and now I regret the small doses; I wish I had more time to spend with her. I never would have believed that I would feel such a void with her death, but there you have it. This person who could drive me crazy with her constant chatter and easy emotions is the one person in all the world I most want to see walking through my door.

My grief is all wrapped up inside a package complete with guilt and regret and it's not a pretty Christmas package; it's an ugly one that threatens to overwhelm me. I question whether I even have the right to grieve considering how I wasn't very nice sometimes, and I'm remembering every slight now, cringing at my behavior. How do I make amends when the person I need to apologize to is gone?

My heart is heavy. Grief is difficult; grief combined with guilt and regret is almost unbearable. My heart is broken and it’s not just because I miss my sister so much, but also because I missed out on so many opportunities to spend time with her and learn more about her. The sad truth is that I chose to exclude her from many of my activities, and now I'm paying the price. Personality differences played a large part. You can’t always be friends with your siblings and such was the case with Kathy. She was gregarious, generous, and fun-loving, all fine traits. But she could be overwhelming at times, which was why I preferred spending small doses of time with her rather than large chunks.

In retrospect those small doses of time don’t seem nearly enough, and therein lays most of my guilt and regret.

The rest of my guilt and regret has a lot to do with how I treated her at times – less like a beloved member of my family and more like a nuisance. This experience has taught me to place a higher value on each person in my sphere, both family and friends, and recognize that everyone brings something special to the table. Kathy’s special gift was her laughter, her generous spirit, and her ability to make everyone feel welcome; I always knew that, it’s just taken her dying to make me see it with clearer eyes and a more open heart.

I loved her; no one should ever doubt that. I believe that Kathy knew it and that she loved me despite my flaws. My hope is that someday soon I'll find peace in that knowledge and remember her with a happy heart instead of a heavy one.