Author: Dawn Green

I gave this the title above simply because I had to get started.  I spend a lot of time thinking about what I want to write, but I never take the chance.  I want this to be sort of a free writing excercise about the sister I miss.  So, here goes….

I am sitting here crying.  I can’t believe over a month has passed, and I still cry.  Last night, I cried while telling someone who had been praying for my sister since her sickness, that Robynn had in fact passed away.  This morning, I cried in front of the office as I shared that I learned that my sister’s doctor had contributed $500 to a college fund for Robynn’s son, Derek.  We had asked that in lieu of flowers, money be donated to that fund at the bank where Robynn worked.  Far and away, and by more than twice the amount of anyone else, this doctor had made her contribution.  I questioned whether this was due to a guilty conscience in my email to family.  (I will add that email in a follow-up post.)

Basically, I want to begin writing about my thoughts on Bynndy.  I was damned fortunate to spend time with her for 9 days in a period that she had just come out of a coma through a slight downturn in her stay at a hospital just prior to my leaving and heading back to Texas.  I was also extremely fortunate to have three trips up there before she passed away.  Here are some of those thoughts…

I learned from my sister, Julie, on April 19th that Robynn had been admitted into the Jordan hospital in Plymouth due to complications stemming from her alcoholism.  I left the office around 6:00 in tears, leaving Scott behind to lock up.  While I was saddened and scared about Robynn’s sickness, I in no way thought this episode would end in her death.

We had plans to go to a Tae Kwon Do tournament in Houston that weekend, and Julie told me to go ahead and go.  By Saturday, two days later, we had learned that Robynn was airlifted to Beth Israel hospital in Boston the same day she was admitted to Jordan.  On Saturday, Julie told me I should head home to Boston immediately as Robynn had taken a turn for the worse.  I was frantic and called every airline for a ticket out of Houston or Austin, but with spring break ending for public schools there that weekend, I was struggling to get a plane.  As Julie talked to me on the phone, I started crying to the point that at one street light, Stacy and I did the Chinese fire drill as we changed seats so she could drive.  I cried virtually the entire way home, while my daughter Ramsey–a black belt in the TKD tournament, kept leaning forward doing her best to console me.  I knew she wanted to help, but my grief was inconsolable.

I arrived in Boston that Sunday after finding a three-connection, two-airline flight to Boston.  Dave, Robynn’s husband picked me up, and we talked about Bynn on the way back.  I walked in to see Robynn hooked up to IVs, a ventilator, and myriad other equipment.  It was frightening.

I am certainly loving and warm, but when people are sick or injured, I struggle with a balance between compassion and frustration.  People who whine about being hurt or sick are a struggle.  True pain–like that experienced by my daughter after being stung by an asp in Corpus–is heartbreaking to me.

Seeing Robynn was heartbreaking.   How on earth could this be my sister?  How on earth could she have got herself to this point?  A ventilator was taped to her face pulling one side askew, and I just wished it was out.  But I found a side to me that had absolutely no trouble talking to her.  I talked to her as is she was fully aware of my presence.

“Hey, Bynn!”, I’d say.  “I’m here!  I know you have been waiting for your big little sister!”  I always called myself her big sister, because I was the bigger of the two.  I was encouraging, talked to her as if she could respond, and found myself comfortable with her in a way that surprised me.   Since I had stayed at her home and slept in her bed, I would wear her earrings and tell her how much I loved them (I really do!!), and I’d say I was going to steal them if she didn’t wake up.

I remember one day my mother taking pictures of all of us with our non-responsive sister.  In some ways, I thought it was morbid as I knew she was in a medically induced coma.  On the other hand, I was happy that my mother was capturing this moment so we could share it with Bynn when she came out.  At one point, I was popping my head into the picture, and my mother told me she had had enough pictures of me and Robynn.  I said, “Well, Julie has more, can’t I have a few?”  She refused to take more and said, “You don’t understand, I have to get these pictures off the camera.”  I responded, “Well, can’t you get them off with just one more of me and Bynn on it?”  I laughed.  My mother can have her ways, and that’s okay.

That week, I had spent a few l nights with Dave and Derek in Kingston, and learned so much about Robynn and her drinking.  I will share that on my next post.

My sister Robynn just passed away, and I’m heartbroken over it.  I have such regrets.  Me.  The person who never thought she’d have regrets over how she treated someone.  I have always prided myself on accepting everyone with their faults and foibles that mirror mine.  I have always known that when family fights  occurred, I would be the one who handed over an olive branch first.

 But with Robynn, I just fucked up.  She was an alcoholic with whom I had become increasingly distant.  We spoke a handful of times a year, and most of our conversations were dominated by Robynn with a rare word added by me.  When I tried to get off the phone, she would demand I continue talking like the time I told her dinner was on the table and the kids and Stacy were waiting for me.  She said, “They can wait.  You can talk to me first.”  Or the one time when early in Stacy’s and my relationship, she talked non-stop for over 18 minutes before I said a single sentence. 

So, while I know that my frustrations were understandable, I am still disappointed in myself for not trying harder.  I wish I had spoken to her more, like when Stacy had gone off to work one morning three years ago, and Robynn and I talked for a couple of hours.  I had one of the most enjoyable conversations I had ever had, and she was optimistic and upbeat.  I know I could have had more of those conversations if only I’d tried harder.

And as we all know, I can’t go back and do it over again.  Since June 7th, the day she died, I have gone to bed every night with my last thought of her.  I have woken every morning thinking of her.  And my thoughts are always of regret and the simple fact that she is not around for me to ever get a second chance.  If only…