Krissy's Funeral

The weather was perfectly gloomy for my baby sister’s funeral this past Friday. The grey “marine layer” that rolls off the ocean just 10 miles away, was thick and hanging as low as our spirits. Since leaving Orange County 25 years ago, I’d forgotten how chilly and wet it can be first thing in the morning, until the California sun finally breaks through and burns off the miserable fog.

Krissy was the second sister I’d lost to cancer and strangely, the second sister to die at the young age of 39. What are the odds? What are the freaking odds?

Krissy didn’t make it a month after her diagnosis. Cancer had invaded her entire body. A grapefruit size tumor in one lung. Cancer in her lower intestine and ovaries. It was already in her bones. They said she had about 2 to 6 months to live and sent her home with Hospice. How does a young woman go into the hospital on several occasions during the past year and see a doctor regularly, for high blood pressure and complications of multiple strokes, and NOT be diagnosed with cancer? I think that she was “dumped” by each hospital that she entered, because she was a charity case. They fixed her obvious ailments and got her out of there quick. Her dad said he’s going to file a lawsuit for “wrongful death.” Now, I am no expert on these matters, but several “somebodies” dropped the ball.

The graveside funeral was lovely, even though there were only 9 of us in attendance. Her father and her son chose not to attend the service. I don’t understand and I wouldn’t have made the same decision, but in my life lessons I’ve learned the hard way that I must let each soul walk their own path.

I didn’t get to tell my sister goodbye in person before she died. Fortunately, she knew I was on my way. I was scheduled to go see her last Wednesday, but she passed away that Sunday before my trip. Instead, I wrote and presented a eulogy of sorts. I’ll make that my next journal entry.