Hopeless Runaway

Who would have considered me a runaway? Yet, that’s exactly what I did—I ran away. I chose not to confront my emotions and tucked them sloppily away in the back of my mind. I was a coward, the opposite of all the attributes I measured myself against everyday. My competitive spirit wouldn’t allow me to admit defeat. I didn’t want to lose the first person who showed me love. No, I simply was not ready to lose the one person who meant so much to me in the world. People say you can’t cheat death, so I refused to play his game. I figured if I wasn’t around to face Death, then my sister would have to live. She had to because I couldn’t see me without her.

Besides, I had hope. I had faith. The definition of hope is the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best. Plus faith, which is the confidence or trust in a person or in God and in His promises as made through Christ by which humans are saved. Even though I couldn’t convey the works I was doing to manifest my faith. I was determined that I was in the ‘right’, my sister would live, and no one could tell me different.

My sister was diagnosed with a cancer in 1999. She had a malignant tumor on the front of her brain. At this time, I was a sophomore in college. After two brain surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy, the tumor returned larger each time. By 2003, the doctors determined that the tumor was inoperable, and that she should continue with chemotherapy treatments to help her live with it comfortably. “Hmmp, comfortably,” I thought. What does that mean? How does one live comfortably with cancer?
In addition to her illness, she continued to care for her husband and two children. She never revealed the pain she must have endured alone. Yet, that was my sister’s way. She was the one who kept the family together, who resolved family disagreements and kept us laughing instead of crying. Even in her hospital bed, she would make jokes about her illness. After each surgery, her on-going joke was that the tumor was apart of the family. It was her way of making light of the situation and putting our worries to rest. It was difficult to be upset with her for long because she was determined to protect those she loved with her contagious laughter. She understood that laughter, true laughter, released fear. We, my family, had always depended on her for that, but soon this would all change.

By this time, I was engrossed in graduate school and my new job that I didn’t realize the magnitude of her illness. There is one memory that sometimes haunts me. For my 23rd birthday, my sister surprised me at my job with my niece and nephew. I was happy to see them, but I was also busy with my new job. Still, I talked with them for awhile, toured the building, showed them my new office and before long they were set to leave. After exchanging hugs, I walked them to the front of the building. The front of the building was made of glass, so I was able to watch them as they walked around the building toward the back parking lot. As they were walking, my sister paused, almost stumbling, and leaned the weight of her body against the building. I recall my then 13 year-old nephew taking her arm for support. I didn’t know exactly what happened, but my heart screamed for me to run out to her. I don’t know why I didn’t. I just stood still, holding my breath. I felt like the character “Celie” from The Color Purple, when she saw “Shug” for the first time, because I couldn’t move. My legs were like trees planted in cement. I was afraid. I was afraid of what I saw---of what that meant. When the feeling returned to my legs, they had begun to move again, and were soon out of sight. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I exhaled a long sigh as I walked toward the entrance. As I pressed my face against the glass, I said a silent prayer, and wished that regret didn’t exist.

Thereafter, my life seemed to be moving in fast forward. I bought my first house, began a new career as a teacher, gained new ‘friends,’ and I was still trying to finish graduate school. With all this new responsibility, I began to party a lot. Almost any weekend I could be found in any of the city’s hot spots. I was a new socialite. I was apart of every committee or organization or trying to join one. Everyone knew my name. Although on the outside it seemed I had it all together, inside I was crumbling. In an attempt to escape my fears, I began to experiment with drugs from smoking marijuana to popping anxiety pills. Then, I began to lose weight excessively. In the course of a year, I went from 145 lbs to 115 lbs. Needless to say, I was stressed. I didn’t really talk with anyone about my problems; I was too afraid to reveal the ugliness I tried so desperately to hide from family and friends. People, including close friends, always viewed me as the go-to girl for sound advice. I was always the responsible one, so when I looked for someone to save me, they were looking for me to save them. In an effort to save myself, I turned to God. And on Sunday, September 26, 2004, I was baptized. I was a long way from perfect, yet I knew the help I required couldn’t be given from a human being. I needed divine intervention! I needed to know God better. I needed to change.

As I was getting my ‘so-called’ life together, everything seemed okay. Fixable. Possible. Normal. I was beginning to feel more hopeful about life. When Christmas came that year, I wanted to make my family happy, especially my sister. For Christmas, my family randomly picked names for gift exchange. I pulled my sister’s name, and I was excited to use this opportunity to purchase her a nice gift. I bought her an entire outfit including jewelry. It was my first time having enough money to get such a gift, and it made me feel full and hopeful. I don’t know why, I guess I thought that if I bought the outfit, my sister would have the opportunity to wear it and know that I loved her.

Two days after Christmas, I received the biggest shock of my life. My sister had a stroke. The stroke left her somewhat incapacitated. She could barely move nor was she able to speak intelligibly. Of course, she had her moments when she was herself, but as time went on her conditioned worsened. After the stroke, she was in and out of the hospital until our family decided to hire a hospice nurse to care for her at their home. The entire year of 2005, she was bedridden. We couldn’t afford the nurse full-time, so we took turns sitting with her, watching her, talking to her—just trying to pour our love into her with the time she had left. I say ‘we,’ but I wasn’t really around as much as I should have been. Although my sister was the one that kept the family together, her illness led to our family arguing more and more. Who should do this? Who’s going to pay for that? Why are you doing it this way? Why aren’t you here? I guess that’s why it was difficult to be there for her as I should have. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that she might die. I didn’t want to give in to the thought that I would lose my sister, the woman who raised me and cared for me more than my mother. Even though it seemed I should have been around the most. I couldn’t. I couldn’t sit there and just watch my sister die before my eyes. See one of the strongest people I knew, simply wither up and die. And cancer doesn’t just hit you all at once. It is a slow death, and everyone knows the end. Yet, everyone tries to be happy and pretend that death isn’t waiting around the corner. I didn’t want to fall prey to that lie. Selfishly, I couldn’t make myself commit to the programmed actions of a caretaker. Instead, I ran away.
I reverted to my old ways of dealing with stress and life. I hit the clubs again—partying, narcotics, losing myself with ‘so-called’ friends, anything to make me forget the reality of my life. It was as if I couldn’t tell one day from the next. Everything was a blur. My life was like watching a dvd while pressing the fast forward button. I had lost so much weight that people thought I was anorexic. Yet, I couldn’t see what they saw. I was too busy trying not to think.

It wasn’t until I was visiting my mother that I became aware of my appearance. She not-so-tactfully pointed out that she could see my collar bones protruding. I recall brushing her off because I didn’t want to talk about it. She was trying to get me to eat, but I found that stress stole my appetite. However, that night I finally stopped and looked at myself. I removed all my clothes and stood in front of the mirror. The funny thing was… I didn’t recognize the woman looking back at me. She looked afraid, self-conscious, lonely and deflated of hope. Nowhere in that mirror could I find me. I was lost. My face was skinny. My large brown eyes were the dominating feature on my face. It was if I was vanishing before my very eyes, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I didn’t know how to fix it. It was so odd that I could ‘fix’ the problems of my friends, co-workers and students, but not my own. Terrified of what I saw, I ran to ‘fix’ it the only way I knew how. However, this time was much different than the past. This may seem strange to some, but I’ve always been a spiritual person, who believes in signs. So, this time when I tried to escape, it was different. I remember praying while I was ‘high,’ and pleading with God:

LORD, please, help me, LORD. I just don’t think I can do it. I want to be there for my sister, but I’m having a hard time seeing her like this. I just don’t want her to be in any more pain. I need you. She doesn’t deserve to die, LORD. She has a family, children to look after, and I have no one. No one needs me. I’d rather it be me, LORD. I don’t want to live anymore. If there’s a choice, take me. I’m so tired of making mistakes and feeling guilty. I don’t know what to do, LORD. I have no one to talk to because all my friends look to me for guidance, and I’m afraid to be seen as weak. My family doesn’t really know me. I don’t have anyone to save me, LORD. Whatever you tell me I will do, LORD, I promise, just help me, guide me, show me which way I should go.

Beginning that Friday night, I went through a three day transformation. I was fighting the demonic spirits I had let loose in my life. I was hearing voices and having terrible nightmares. This time the drugs didn’t work. I couldn’t runaway from this because it was inside of me. It was then that I realized the commitment I made to God during my baptism was real. Some people say that they’ve never heard God speak to them. Well, HE spoke to me! God spoke to me in a way that I will never forget. It wasn’t in the literal sense, but HE was in my dreams, mind, heart and soul. It’s hard for me to explain, but it was as if I could hear this voice that was always constant. It told me to look at this, try this, ask yourself this question, do it this way, etc. This was a voice that I don’t think I’d heard before in my life. I’ve always thought God just spoke to certain people until it happened to me. The voice startled me at first until I realized that it sounded like my own, but stronger, wiser, calmer compared to the other voice(s) I would hear when making decisions. For three days, I dwelled in complete silence—no television or radio. I didn’t realize how much noise I put into my life until then. When everything was shut off and quiet, it became easier for me to hear God’s voice. HE asked, “How can I use you as an example? How can I use you to lead others if you choose to lead this life?” As an educator, a leader, people were looking to me for guidance. God revealed to me that the most damaging spirit of all that I had to fight was fear. HE told me fear was at the root of all I was doing and until I conquered it—HE wouldn’t continue to bless me. HE showed me how my world would be without HIS protection. And that world was chaos. It was the most frightening thing I could imagine. HE told me I had a choice to make, and if the choice wasn’t HIM, then this would be my world. Immediately, I wanted no parts of that, so I chose HIM, with no doubts or reservations. It was like parts of me were dying, so that I could live. I may have been afraid of my sister’s death and all of the other things I was trying to escape, but I was more fearful of living without God’s protection. For me, the choice became easy. I would accept my life as it was, and confront my fears.

By Sunday, I was determined to change. I began to face my demons, but it wasn’t easy. I really had to change my life—what I did, who I did it with, the places I went—all had to change. I stopped partying, the narcotics and the running away. I commenced to spend more time with my family, and visiting my sister more. I began to take a more active role as one of the caretakers, but as fate would have it my sister’s conditioned still worsened. I prayed and read the bible almost every day. I had faith. I was filling my heart with hope one day at a time. If God could save me, then maybe I could ask HIM to save her. So, I read every faith-based book, watched all the shows on the Inspiration channel and attended church regularly hoping my faith would heal my sister. I was a junky, but I was a junky for the LORD! I was determined to make up for lost time. I was not about to lose my sister.

Why does it seem that when you are trying to change your life for the better that things get worse? I don’t know, but they did. At the onset of 2006, my sister had lost her ability to speak or move. There were times that it seemed she didn’t know who I was. It was like she didn’t even recognize me. When she would try to speak, there were no words, just sounds like grunts or moans. It was depressing to see her this way, but I was still hopeful. One day, as I was driving to my sister’s house, I prayed for God to give me a sign. Any sign to let me know that HE would heal her. From all my reading, I learned that you must be specific when praying because you get what you ask for, so that’s what I did. I made a specific request of God. Since she hadn’t spoken or walked in weeks, all I wanted was to be able to see her walk. I wanted to hear her talk. I wanted to see her the way I remembered her before the illness. I wanted to see her smile and recognize and acknowledge me. When I arrived at her house, I heard my mother’s voice and a little laughter. I quickly ran up the stairs to see what was happening. I entered the room to see my sister walking with the help of a walker towards me. Then she said, “hey, girlie, what’s up?” I was so caught off guard, I was speechless. I managed to respond a feeble, “nothing much, happy to see you walking.” She replied, “Well, I have to go to the bathroom. I’m feeling a little better today for some reason.” As my mother walked behind her toward the bathroom, she gave me a squeeze on the shoulder. I was so elated and surprised at the same time. I remember getting on my knees right then and there and thanked God for answering my prayer. I couldn’t believe it worked so fast! At that time, I just knew that everything was going to be okay. I had nothing to worry about because God was going to save my sister. My heart was swollen with hope and idealism. It was soon to be New Year’s, and as far as I was concerned I had gotten my Christmas wish.

However, time was not my friend. Her small display of health didn’t last long. It was near the end of January, I remember because it was close to my mother’s birthday, my sister had some type of seizure and they rushed her to the hospital. On February 2, 2006, the doctors felt the family should come to the hospital to be with her. Although we all knew what that statement meant, I refused to sit and wait for my sister to die. I arrived at the hospital around 6:00pm. I recall my family standing around the hospital bed praying and saying our goodbyes. It was like a dream or some cruel nightmare. It seemed unreal. I just knew that I would wake up any moment now; this could not be my life! I had changed! I did what was asked of me. God had given me a sign, so I knew that this just had to be a test of my faith. Some routine thing doctors did when they really didn’t know what to do. So, I played along with the routine. In my heart, my sister would live. It is what I believed, so it was the only thing real to me, not this ‘movie-like’ scene that was happening. It all had to be a joke. In my arrogance and conceit, I just knew God wouldn’t do me wrong, that death wouldn’t take her. Convinced of my conclusion, I decided to leave the hospital. I held tight to my hope. My faith kept me clutching to the idea that she would defeat this disease. She had fought it for seven years, thus far, I knew she’d be okay. This wasn’t the first time we had been at the hospital for her, so my heart hoped she’d pull through again.
For me, Hope was like this huge balloon that filled my chest and connected to my heart. I wasn’t ready to let go. I had done so much to get here in my life. I was here, sober and participating. This is where God wanted me, this is how HE wanted me and I hoped my obedience would be enough. So, at around 12:35am, I left the hospital to head home. My family looked at me strangely, but in my mind I knew something they didn’t. I had something they didn’t—hope. In my mind, she would still be there tomorrow, but yesterday became a memory too soon. I had only been gone for about ten minutes when my mother called urging me to hurry and return to the hospital. 12:45am. As soon as I parked my car and began to walk across the street toward the hospital, my mother called. She said, her voice quivering, “Lisa passed, Crystal, she passed at 1:00am, February 3rd.” If only I had ten more minutes, I thought to myself, as I ran through the hospital doors. If only I wasn’t so damn selfish! If only I had faced my fears sooner, I would have had more time with her. If only I would have done so many things differently. As I ran, I tried to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other. I ran past the security guard and his useless attempt to stop me. I ran past the other hospital patrons and their probing eyes who knew what I was running toward—who knew what my running must have meant. I was running up the stairs because the elevator was too slow for my heart to wait. I was running, hoping to catch up with time. I needed more of it. I needed it to rewind. I needed it to stop, so I could beat the shit out of it. I needed my sister to forgive me. For not being there...not showing the right amount of care....I don't know what I needed. I ran until I reached her room’s open door. Out of breath, I stood in the doorframe. As I stepped inside the room, I gazed at all the sad crying faces before my eyes stopped at my sister’s body peacefully lying in the bed. I froze.
My balloon that was full of hope, slowly seeped to empty.