Getting Ahead of Myself

So much happened in the past week that I can barely remember the order of events.

Fine, I'll work backwards and sideways and try to say what has happened.

The capstone that allowed me to sleep last night (see previous entry) was that on Tuesday, when I visited my sister, she had more or less accepted her new venue in the (beautiful, airy, comfortable, cool, filled-with-compassionate-caregivers) group home. She'd gone with the other two girls for a drive and an ice cream run, had two good meals, and walked through the house to sit at the table -- finally trusting staff to guide her and balance her as she traversed the three rooms. Jan is blind, and moving from the prison of her chair in my mother's house to a new domicile has been a study in vertigo and sensory overload for Jan. She's going to be fine there. She even got to pet Howie briefly before she wanted to take a nap.

When Jan arrived at the group home, she was traumatized by the spacial strangeness, and all the unknown voices around her; the transition from the disgustingly stuffy 87 degrees of our mother's house to the air-conditioned breezy venue of the group home. Jan did what she could to object: she refused to eat, drink, or move, and told each caregiver in turn that he or she was fired, as of NOW.

Over the course of the days, I talked to her when I visited, and was moved to tears when I mentioned that Jan had helped teach me to read ... and Jan whispered, "When I was ten." That was when she read to me, when I was three and four and she was ten and eleven. I put my hand on hers, and unexpectedly, she put her other hand on mine and held it.

My God, we haven't had that much closeness since my mother decided Jan shouldn't bother me when I was like ... nine.

Jan's hunger strike continued for the first couple days, and the staff called me and asked me to stop by again and see if I couldn't get her to eat or drink something. I did, of course, and to my surprise, Jan reached for me, put her arms around me, and put her head on my chest, holding me tight.

Again, my God, if she could remember me and trust me after all those years of being kept apart, what all else is stewing there, asking and unanswered in my sister's head?

I rejected the nasty cup the caregivers had been trying to offer Jan to sip from; it was a dumb baby's cup. I asked them for something that didn't have a screw-on top, and after they brought a smooth-lipped cup, I convinced Jan to have two sips. Then I asked for them to put some sugar in the water. Not a lot, just a little. Sugar is a stimulant, and can help with shock. A couple sips at a time, and Jan drank the whole thing. It was a start.

She's gone leaps and bounds ahead now, and is talking up a storm. She has explained to the staff that she has worked for both the FBI and the German Embassy.

As I left yesterday, the House Manager said to me, "Maybe you'll get your sister back now." Please God, maybe I will.