LIFE’S MYSTERIES

When My Sister Passed Away, She Saved My Life

I sometimes wonder why I beat cancer, and she didn’t

“Kathryn A. Coulter, 53, of Leominster, died Friday, Dec. 24, 2010, in her home, after a long bout with cancer.”

That’s how my sister’s obituary begins, but it doesn’t tell our story.

Kathy, or Kit as my dad and I called her, was a year older than me. Despite not being the oldest girl in our family, she was always the big sister to me.

She had a steady job at a local company for years, but it started going south after being bought out. Rather than hang on and hope for better, she took a buyout and left.

I don’t think she ever regretted leaving.

After my dad passed away, Kit and our other siblings always checked in on Mom. Other than my sister Donna, who lived an hour away in New Hampshire, the rest of us lived in town. My brother owned a home behind hers, Kit lived maybe a quarter-mile up the street, and I lived upstairs.

In time, our mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and keeping an eye on her became more important. Donna would drive down weekly, usually on a Wednesday, to take Mom to lunch and spend time with her.

I’d stop in to play cribbage and make her a grilled cheese (she loved those damn things). Mom could play cribbage for hours. But come 5 p.m., everything stopped. Mom would have dinner, and Kit would come down and put the coffee on and watch the Gilmore Girls. She eventually got me hooked on that damn show.

It became our routine for years.

As our mom’s Alzheimer’s progressed, I noticed Kathy wasn’t feeling well. I think she saw it as a “woman’s thing.” But she would never tell me what was wrong until something was wrong.

She parked in the driveway and flung herself in my arms. I heard the words I never wanted to hear.

“I don’t want to die.”

Fucking cancer.

As with my dad’s story, this hurts to write. But Kit’s story should be told.

I told her I didn’t want her to die either. That’s all I can remember. Maybe it’s because I never expected her to say those words.

I knew Kit didn’t have health insurance. By then, she was working at a mom-and-pop corner store in town. Because she didn’t have insurance, I knew she was letting things slide.

When Kit finally learned she had cancer, it was stage 4.

By the way, I never knew what kind of cancer she had. Kit never told me. Again, it was something she’d share with her sisters but not her brothers. Either that or I was incredibly dense (probably the latter).

During this time, I was suffering in silence from depression. I never told anyone — not even my family. I was often in my own world. I spent two or three years under my blanket, letting the world pass me by.

But Kathy’s diagnosis brought us closer, for which I’ll always be grateful.

Our evenings of coffee and Gilmore Girls continued as if nothing had happened. But she slowly withered away.

In October, our mom passed quietly in her sleep. But our trips to the hospital weren’t over.

It was Kit’s turn to visit the ER. We saw her the next day in her room at the hospital. Kit was bright-eyed and laughing. And she was doing a favored hobby, working on a crossword puzzle. I wondered if a miracle was in store.

Donna showed me the puzzle. It was covered in scribbles. I understood there would be no miracle for her.

Kit always wanted to watch season 7 of the Gilmore Girls. The damn DVDs were harder to find than I expected. But I found them, and before long, Kit was happily watching the final season.

I can’t recall how long after her hospital stay Kit passed. Remembering the day isn’t so difficult. It was Christmas Eve — while she watched the final season in her home.

Within two months, I lost my mom and sister.

After Kit’s death, I realized I needed to look after myself. I was determined not to let it be too late for me.

Sure enough, a few months later, I found myself in a hospital room waiting to have a foot of my colon removed. A colonoscopy revealed what were malignant polyps.

Now you may think, great, they found it before it was too late. And yeah, that was pretty damned great. If Kathy had not been diagnosed with cancer, I might have continued to watch the world pass me by.

Instead, I became more proactive about my health. So far, that’s paid off. I’m lucky times three to be here still. And I count my blessings every morning.

If you’ve read this far, thank you for stopping by.

I accept tips, which go directly to Dining for Hunger, a recognized 501(c)(3) organization that looks to end food insecurity. If you can spare a dollar or two, I’d be grateful.

More stories from Bruce Coulter.