There You Are

I always thought I would be the first to die. I hadn’t planned the way exactly, but it was expected. I was definitely the most reckless out of all of my sisters.

They had boyfriends, jobs, mortgages that kept them rooted. I was single, unattached, and made it my mission to see as much of the world as possible. And with the success of my travel blog, Libby’s List, I was able to quit my job and travel full-time. I encouraged everyone to create their bucket list of must-see destinations while I worked through mine.

Little did I know that Northlake Memorial Gardens would be added to that list.

I felt Vera squeeze my hand as the pallbearers prepared Nora’s coffin for burial. Lydia, on my other side, rested her head on my shoulder, turning toward my neck.

I couldn’t look away from the wooden box that contained my sister. Couldn’t believe that this was the last time that I would be near her.

I’ll never see her again.

She was the safe one. I was the one she worried about. Yet here we all were. Watching the coffin being lowered into the ground.

I’ll never see her again.

My eyes burned. I blinked faster to keep the tears from falling. Bit the inside of my cheek to contain the grief growing inside me. I wanted to scream.

This isn’t fair.

I thought of the FaceTime dates Nora and I had throughout my travels to distract myself.

I would call her as much as her schedule allowed so that she could first, see that I hadn’t been kidnapped and second, vicariously live through me.

Sometimes she appreciated me bringing her along – she cried when I took her whale watching off the Gold Coast. Other times, like when we had dinner (breakfast for her) while I was in Thailand, she didn’t enjoy. Apparently, scorpions and red ant eggs weren’t her idea of a good meal. Later that night my stomach agreed.

She always said that she would go on a trip with me one day like Lydia and Vera occasionally did, but she was a teacher who – get this – actually liked her job. She loved teaching so much that she even worked during the summer. Whether it was tutoring, teaching at summer camps, or leading a reading program at the library – all Nora wanted were her books and her pupils to be happy.

“One day,” She’d say. “For now I’m content with what I’m doing.”

I just couldn’t believe her, she was always being noble. I don’t ever remember her putting herself first, especially after our parents died. She moved back home during college to make sure that we finished school without falling apart. She never got to have fun, she gave up her dreams for us. I doubted that “one day” would come before retirement.

I kept on pushing her though because after all she did for us she deserved to be able to live! Not to watch us experience life while she graded papers or cleaned gum off the bottom of a desk.

I occasionally employed the twins to convince her to join us because they were the best at whining. I wasn’t above playing dirty. It would all be worth it when I saw her reaction as her taste buds processed just how sublime gelato in Italy was or how big her eyes got when she saw the breathtaking views from the top of the Cliffs of Moher.

But it turns out cancer doesn’t care about your plans.

It all happened suddenly. One day she went in for her yearly check-up and by the end of the month she was getting a biopsy.

Lydia and I were at the Denali National Park when she called to break the news.

Breast Cancer.

Vera stayed with her while we changed our plans and flew back to Charlotte. We were worried, but not terrified – so many women have breast cancer and beat it. Right?

We were with her throughout the process and after recovering from her lumpectomy she was doing great. So great that she finally caved.

“Fine, fine. Let’s go on a trip together. I’ll take this summer off. I’ve been keeping y’all long enough.” The few seconds of shock-induced silence were quickly replaced by squeals and laughter.

We had camembert, ciabatta, and mojitos that night to celebrate. Lydia and Vera danced to a k-pop playlist while I showed Nora how cheap flights could be from different apps on my phone. When she took out her black journal to take notes I knew she was serious.

“There’s so much to look into, to plan. I’ll have to do more research. I’m going to need to let everyone know that I won’t be here this summer. My kids will miss me, I’ll have to tell them as soon as possible –“

I hushed her and advised her to start small – just make a bucket list first.

I’ll never forget the light in her eyes that night. We were buzzing with the joy of what would be.

Then it came back.

And no matter what they did – more surgery, chemotherapy, mastectomy, double mastectomy – it continued to spread.

Nora, not wanting us to worry, would often joke about her situation. One night she reenacted the scene from Les Mis, now that she could easily pass as Anne Hathaway as Fantine. They did not share the same vocal cords though and we all laughed until our stomachs hurt at her dreadful performance of "I Dreamed A Dream."

As time went on though it became harder to find levity. Her survival rate went from 90% to 28% in less than 5 months.

Then she became too sick to teach.

“Well, I finally have time to travel.” She said. Somehow smiling as she wiped the tears off my cheeks.

Nora died while we were sleeping. I didn’t notice at first. She was laying in her bed with her journal open on her lap. I went to close it because she never let anyone read it. As I reached across my hand brushed against her arm. Her ice-cold arm.

The last thing I remember before fainting was how dull her eyes were.

-

The sun was setting by the time we left the cemetery.

The large number of people at the funeral made it difficult to leave without being intercepted with condolences. The majority of them I didn’t know, which wasn’t surprising.

Nora spent her time doing things for other people all the time. I was being pelted with story after story of how she helped them somehow or what she did for their kid or their freaking dog.

She never got her chance to live her own life.

What was surprising though was the check that was presented to us. The parents, teachers, and whoever else caught wind donated to a fund in Nora’s name. Commissioning us to use it as Nora would.

While the sentiment was nice, what were we going to do with $20,000? With her insurance and some money left over from our parents’ deaths, all the bills were covered. And use it as Nora would? She’d probably give it all away.

Thanks to a painful elbow in my side from Vera I relaxed the scowl that was on my face more often than not these days and accepted the check as graciously as I could. I even gave a speech thanking everyone that was there. The funeral went off without a hitch.

Nora would be proud.

Now we had to face the next challenge – cleaning out Nora’s place. We organized what we could earlier in the week and now we had to sort through what we’d keep and what would be given away.

The twins, recognizing that I needed space, volunteered to do the kitchen together. Deciding to rip the bandaid off I went straight to Nora’s room.

It was surreal being in her bedroom without her. Not wanting to get lost in memories of our time spent in this room I decided to get started and opened the first box I saw.

If I had known it was her hospital box I wouldn’t have touched it. As I pushed it away I noticed Nora’s journal underneath a stack of papers.

I took it out and ran my fingers across the soft, black cover. It felt sacred.

She was very serious about writing and had an insane amount of planners and journals. She used this one the most though. It was an extension of her brain she had once explained. In it would be things that she never shared with me.

I flipped through the pages until I found what I was looking for –

My Bucket List

I would see her adding to it even after our trip planning had to be scrapped. I had to find out what she wrote.

Wait, I lowered the journal. Should I be reading this? I chewed on my bottom lip as I contemplated the possibility of Nora haunting me from the other side.

Worth it. I thought as I sat down on her bed and started to read:

Having a list that doesn’t start with bullet points or numbers is a crime. I definitely wouldn’t allow one of my kids to get away with it – but I need to preface.

Libby is having me make this in preparation for our trip this summer that I agreed to (miracles are real) but I honestly can’t think of any particular places that I must see.

After Mom and Dad died I never thought that I could happy again. I didn’t think that I could stand to “see” another day. Then I moved back home. What started as an obligation ended up being the best decision that I have ever made.

Being in my sisters’ lives, seeing them grow into the incredible ladies that they are today was a literal lifesaver. They showed me that even in the darkest times we can find joy. It’s because of them I am alive. It’s because of them I became a teacher. Now, countless people have been positively impacted by the gifts that I didn’t realize that I had.

I’ve never been happier, I’ve never felt more loved, or fulfilled.

I will always miss my parents but they truly left me with the most wonderful sisters.

A soft pat, pat sound brought me out of my reading. Tears, that I didn’t notice, were streaming down my face and onto the pages of the journal. I soaked up what I could with the sleeve of my sweater, glad to see that it wasn't smudging. With a dramatic sniff, I continued:

Now, never one to fail an assignment I will make a bucket list, but instead of must-see items this will be a list of must-dos:

• Let my sisters know that I love them.

⁃ Bonus: saying it in whatever language that’s relevant for where we are.

• Go with the flow! They have been waiting so long for this – don’t be a party pooper.

• Come back with stories and pictures to share throughout the school year - I’m sure my kids would love to “vicariously live through me.”

⁃ Has Libby trademarked that yet?



I failed to stifle my laughter. Hand flying to cover my mouth after the noise already escaped, echoing out the door. Surprising myself that I was still capable of laughing.

Lydia and Vera suddenly appeared in the doorway. Foreheads wrinkled in confusion. Or maybe worry. Actually probably both. Their eyes went from me to the journal and back to me again.

I looked down at the journal. There was so much more that Nora wrote. So much more to Nora than I thought. Never before has she seemed so real to me.

Looking back at my sisters my eyes stung with fresh tears.

“Let’s read this together,” I said, having the feeling that I was talking to three people. “And I know exactly what we’re going to do with that money.”