My Beautiful Sister

(Written on Monday, 23 January, to be posted at a later time, when I’ll regain access to the Internet.)

My sister did not look so beautiful today when I saw her, still in a deep coma, attached to a respiratory machine. She's lodged in the intensive therapy unit of the neuro-chirurgical department of the hospital in Bergamo.

I could not recognize her when they finally let me in, breaking the visiting time obedience rule since I just landed, flying all the way from California.

I got the call on Saturday. It was one of those balmy Californian afternoons, and I was in Calabasas on the set of a house that we’ll feature in Elle Décor Italia.

They told me that Marina had fallen and had brain hemoragia. They told me she was brought to the hospital in a deep coma. They told me that the surgeon decided to perform surgery despite the odds of “one in a thousand” chance of survival. She was still young and very healthy. Who could make better use of that one-chance, after all?

I booked my flight to Italy for Sunday morning based on that one-in-a-thousand chance. She was a winner before I even boarded and made it through despite the doctors’ pessimism. However, that did not determine any possible prediction of the future. She had to be kept in a pharmacological coma to give time to the brain to recover before allowing her to try breathing on her own. Only when she will recover her vital functions, it will be possible to determine how big has been the damage to her brain and what could be the consequences.

I might end up with a sister who smiles when upset, frowns when she’s happy and needs diapers, chalk and a board to express herself in sentences. So is what the very non-nonsense doctor is telling me behind the all catalogue of medical obscure terms he used to describe what happened and could happen to her.

I knew better, though. Not immediately. I have to admit that for a while I could only feel a huge black void when I tried to establish contact with Marina, and I was scared. But when I finally sat on the first plane to New York, I closed my eyes and experienced flashes of images, fast paced dreaming materials.

They were memories from Marina’s point of view. Only my sister could have seen and remembered them that way. There was the red pebble that she and I “borrowed” from our neighbors’ backyard. When we were about to get caught, Marina made me hid it in my nostril. But the damn thing went way too far, requesting extraction by the family doctor. My sister was ashamed and felt guilty. I never knew that. I only remembered the thrill.

I knew then that my sister is going to make it. Of course, she has to. I could not live without her. Here, I said it. I, the steel warrior who has been acting matter of fact and taking care of business for 48 hours straight by now. I am finally admitting it, Marina. I need you to come back. That’s why I am staying at your house here in Bergamo and not at the many friends who are willing to be there for me now, offering comfort and support. Thanks but no thanks.

I need to be here. Alone. Surrounded only by my sister’s presence and silence.

I took a bath and slipped on my sister’s nightie. I am going to sleep in her bed, the sheets still fragrant with her scent. I am listening to the Jefferson Airplane cd she was listening to with Luca, her brand new love whom I met today for the first time.

Marina and Luca met 25 years ago in Brazil. They brushed lives one against the other for a moment, then split up for separate adventures. A fourth of a century after, they met again in Tuscany, at a friend’s house. Both 50 years old by now and with some gray in their hair, kids to father on Luca’s side and an aging and ailing mother on Marina’s, they fell madly in love.

It has been fireworks, sparkles and heart palpitation ever since. You can’t leave Luca alone, Marina. Come back for him too. He wants you, just as much as I want you. Your hundred of friends, who called me incessantly all day long, want you. You are the most beloved person I can’t think of, and all this love is going to keep you alive.

It will take weeks for you to wake up and it will be a very hard struggle. But you will come back. You, whole and energetic, and full of life just as before. You. Not just a veggie in a woman’s body poked and pinched one million times, with a bandage wrapping your still opened skull that says “attention, the bone is missing”, since the brain needs space and air to go back to its place and shape after the big swell.

All those tubes and hoses moving quarters of morphine, dopamine and solution in, urine and blood out, taking possession of your veins and channels. Your tongue stuck between your teeth so that it cannot slip into your throat and suffocate you. Your yellowish complexion and the shaved head…All that is just temporary.

You are coming back to smile and play with me and this will just be a nightmare to leave behind. You’re coming back to feel when I’ll hold you and brush your locks with my fingers… your curly hair just like mine. Me brushing your shiny dark brown as you used to do with my blonds when we were little.

Tuesday, January 24.

I slept a few hours and lost the pounding headache that kept me constant company in the past two days. I need all my strength for you now, and I need to get myself together to go tell our mom. I had her prepared to see me back in Italy without detecting the extent of what happened to you.

I had other people lie to her, tell her that you fell and hit your head, that they’re keeping you under surveillance and that’s why she won’t be able to reach you on your cell and talk to you. My trained liars told mom that I am coming tomorrow for a business meeting, and that I’ll come to see you directly from Malpensa airport. I will then go to her, our mom, “from the hospital”.

Mom bought it. How strange, since she always knew what was going on with us, and lying to her was useless. It might be Parkinson’s disease, It might be that she does not want to know. She might be as scared as you are. But so far, that’s what she knows or wants to know. She’s waiting for me to go tell her that her “other baby” is going to be all right. How hard!!!

Yet, I will go and lie some more to her. I never did, you know. Fed up enough with all the lies our parents told us throughout our childhood, I grew up believing that “truth is always better”.

This time, I doubt it. Not this time. Not for her. Not for a mother who relied specially on you to take care of her, during all these years I spent in America.

I will take care of her now, Marina. Don’t worry. I am prepared to go back and forth from United States as if it was your daily one-hour commute from Bergamo to Milan. And I will come and go for as long as you need me to. So, don’t worry. Take all the time you need for your brain to recover. But remember. I am waiting for you and you get to come back. You got too much to come back. You cannot leave yet.

You owe me a smile. You owe me to reopen those big black doe eyes of yours and reflect all the light of this love.

Tuesday 24th, evening.

I saw Marina again tonight. I felt her very weak and very far, as if she’s gone so far that she’s scared she'll be unable to come back. I held her hand under the thermo-blanket. All I could feel was her fear.

It took me down. I could no longer tell her to come back. I chose to let her free to make her own decision. Freedom is what I’ve ruled my life by. I will make no exception for HER life.

I want Marina to feel free to choose. I just tried to let her know that if she decides to come back, she has many people ready to welcome, accept and help her, no matter what. But it’s a reckless decision, one way or the other.

Recklessness is a very personal matter. Recklessness belongs to the heart, not to the mind domain.

My sister has always been a reckless woman. I admire her courage and respect her ways. That’s why I HAVE to set her free.

But it’s the damn hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I am not so sure I am so well equipped for this endeavor.

I kept myself together so far. Then tonight, I was taking the clothes she had on when she fell out of the washer. I was about to hang them but I could not make sense of a purple garment. It took me a couple of minutes to realize that was the result of  paramedics cutting off the sleeves and front of her t-shirt when they found her laying on the pavement.

They tried CPR to revive her. I could visualize the whole scene, one long second after the other. I could hear the ambulance personnel talking loud and the noise of the stretcher hitting the floor close to my sister’s body.

I could see they lifting her lids and look at dilated pupils that did not reflect light. All of a sudden, I was swallowed in a tunnel of horror, scare and pain myself. I set the music volume higher and broke down in tears, bawling and crying loud.

Ten minutes. That all I could allow myself. And now I am back. The usual efficient, almost robotic, heartless and rational wonder woman who will take care of business and fix everything that can be fixed.

Fixing Marina, though, is not something I feel like I can and should do anymore. 

NOT if she does not want to. Better. Not if she does not tell me that she wants me to.

 

Comments

[Lisa Stone]

I am thinking of you. ~L

[f.]

even in this tragic situation, gloria behaves like the wonderful warrior she is... with heart and pride and terrific human warmth...

[Jenny]

Oh, Gloria... I'm keeping you and your family in my thoughts.

May Marina continue to reach out to you, and may you continue to hear her.

[pinky the first]

Gloria, that is so sad. I really hope Marina recovers fully.

Suz

[xuxu]

It sounds like a horrible thing to go through, I pray for her to get all the power it takes to make her whole again.

[Suzi]

Oh Gloria, I am so sorry this has happened to you and your family. You are all in my thoughts and prayers.

Love & Hugs,

Suzi

[Daniel Guerrero]

Gloria, I heard what happened through Amy's mom. I am so sorry you are going through this - but I am sure that God is on your and your family's side. Keep your spirits up and I pray that your sister recovers quickly.

Daniel

[Kathryn Henneman]

This human experience
of Marina's life, unfolding. The spiritual life of Marina.
Thoughts and prayers
are with you, Gloria and your family.

[AntexyAbesy]

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