The ramblings of a heart-broken sister

I rarely cry. I can't stand the swollen throat, the runny nose, the stinging makeup in the eyes. Even worse, though, are those feelings that accompany tears, such as helplessness, weakness, self-pity and abandon. I much rather like to laugh at problems. (I love laughter so much I wrote an entire blog post about it last summer - A laughing matter.) Why cry and add such raw, ugly, seriousness to something that's already painful? Laughing keeps me in control and the mood light. Of course, there are times when you don't have a choice. There are times when the pain is so deep, so offending and so unexpected, you're sobbing before you can fight it. One year ago, today, was one of those times. Risa left us.

The last week of her life was a horrific waiting game. I remember being torn; I wanted her suffering to end, but not by her death. It goes against all instincts to let someone or something die. If an animal were hurt, I would try to help it. This was my baby sister. I remember thinking, why are we just watching and letting this happen to her?  Yet, I also knew that if we could just let her go, she could finally be happy again.

It has been said before that her name means laughter. Risa Melody Whitaker, a melody of laughter. I try to replay her sweet laugh. It disturbs me to realize how quickly memories fade. I wish I could remember everything that was said in those silly conversations I had with her. What did I say to make her laugh? What did she say to make me laugh? One thing I do remember clearly is how she would laugh - her beautiful dimpled smile, her sweet melody of giggles, her head thrown back in full-on, snorting guffaws, and her pretty little hand held to her face to recover as she pursed her lips closed.


In contrast, I hardly recognized my own wailing voice as I watched her leave. What an awful sound that was! I had never heard myself sob like that. Why do we even do that? It doesn't change anything. My family and I eventually had to stop crying to discover that Risa was still gone. We were still here with lives to live. The world moved on in such a disrespectful normalcy and we were expected to join it.

The mind can be one's worst enemy in times of tragedy. Right after she died, my mind would taunt me by telling me everything would be alright in the morning. Risa would be alive and well. This was all just a really long, and terribly realistic nightmare.  I hated hearing that voice because it only lived long enough to be violently clutched and killed by reality, forcing another wave of stinging tears. Regret was another unpleasant frequenter of the mind. Why didn't I sing Encore songs with her more often, like she wanted? Why didn't I invite her into my room and talk about her life? Why didn't I teach her how to dance as she always wished? If only, if only, if only. Silly mind. I had thousands of wonderful days with her! I am so lucky to have lived with her, to be her sister! As cliche and Broadway-Musical-ish as it may sound, I really am a better person because I've known her.

Yes, it was extremely painful to let her go. But, you know what? As hard as those days were, I never could feel hopeless or depressed. How could I? I felt more assuredly than ever that God was in charge. I felt the reality of the spirit world, the reality of eternity, the reality of forever families, and the reality of Christ's atonement and resurrection more than ever. How could I feel hopelessness, abandonment or despair? As soon as my self-pity tried to bring me down, the reality of God's great plan for Risa, for me, and for everyone would lift me up again. She's right over there and I'll see her again... no question.

Though I still don't like to, I do periodically tear up at times. However, Risa's hope before she died was that our family would still be the happy family we've always been. She still wanted us to laugh. We do. We laugh a lot. And I know she does too. Life goes on and it gets better as we experience the laughter and the tears. I miss her so so much, but I know I'll be with her again and we'll be singing, dancing and, above all,  laughing together.