Who Are You Missing?
Oh, the cruelty of a virus that keeps us apart.
My “baby” sister. I love her with all my heart. Ten years younger than me and my hero.
When our parents were diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer, less than two months before my own breast cancer diagnosis, my sister moved them into her home and basically gave up her life to care for them.
I could never have done what she did. Never.
Our parents died nine months later, in side-by-side beds in a hospice room.
I haven’t seen my sister, Diane, in weeks and I miss her terribly. Viscerally. And I miss her husband and kids — my two wonderful nephews and my niece, their youngest.
Diane works as a hiring manager at a large, upscale grocery chain and, to the best of my knowledge, they’re not yet required to wear masks. Because of this, I worry about her every day.
When the shit started hitting the fan, I thought that I’d be able to visit her, at her home at least. But now, that makes about as much sense as having a failed reality TV star in the White House.
My sister comes into contact with who-knows-how-many people a day. It would be irresponsible of me to hang with her for an hour or two and risk my catching something and bringing it home to my husband. And she agrees.
But it hurts. I can’t get a warm, comfy hug (redolent with the sweet scent of Pink Sugar) from Diane nor her from me. Nor can you take sustenance from the embrace of a parent, or an adult child, or a sibling or a lover who was perhaps a featured speaker at a seminar far, far away and now, is struggling to return home…to your hungry arms.
Ain’t that a bitch.
What a cruel, cruel virus this is, that keeps us from those we love. Partners. Parents. Children. Close friends.
I’m lucky in that I have my husband and our three cats for comfort. But what about those among us who live alone? I can’t imagine what they must be going through and find myself thinking about them on the hour.
To those “soloists” I say, “Please remain strong. You are not alone. People are with you. I’m with you.”
When my sister gets home at night, she’s beat as she’s been pulling down twelve-hour days. Yes, the crazy shoppers are still out in full force. So we haven’t been talking as much as we normally do.
And here’s something that greatly concerns me: My sister remarked that “customers are getting mean.”
They rail at the employees for not wearing masks, and at each other for snatching up the last bottle of hand sanitizer or family pack of chicken wings, or loaf of Ezekiel Bread.
Yes, I worry about her. And if anyone were to hurt her in any way, I would do my best to fuck them up. Enough said about that.
Too, I’m worried and frightened for us all, as we’re fed one dangerous lie after another from our cowed administration and the Criminal-In-Chief, who is so obviously unhinged that to not address this is inexplicable to me. POTUS is insane!
Lies. There’ve been so many, that it’s difficult to keep track. They pollinate and cross-pollinate like poppies in a field until we’re unsure of “who” has said what to “whom.” I’m guessing that’s the point.
My sister and I have a brother who we haven’t spoken to in over five years. The “middle child.” He also has three children. Two boys and a girl, like Diane.
We have no contact.
Once in a while, when I allow my mind to drift like an untethered zeppelin, I wonder how they’re doing.
But only for a moment or two, and then, I recall what estranged us and I go back to not caring. Perhaps that sounds harsh, but sometimes “not caring” is the only way to get through.
I wonder if he thinks about his sisters. Five years is a long time. Soon, it will be six years, then…
Saturday. Another day in quarantine. At some point, I will have to venture out to buy food for our kitties. I’ll cover my face and do the best I can to stay distanced, and safe.
When I get home, I’ll call Diane and tell her how much I miss her. And I hope and pray (to who?) that I won’t hear anything in her voice that will lead me to believe she’s not feeling well. Please — not that.
I’ve never been a FaceTimer, a Zoomer or a Skyper. If I want to “see” my sister, maybe it’s time I started. After all, we do what we must.
Thank you for reading.
“ILLUMINATORS,” please share your stories and tell the community who you’re missing right now. I’d like to kick it off with P.G. Barnett, Gurpreet Dhariwal, Joe Luca, Rasheed Hooda, Kevin Buddaeus, Jezebel and Chris Hedges 🦄
Please feel free to pay the prompt forward.
Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.
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