FOR MY SISTER, PAULA
The prodigal daughter came home from a distant country, a reality created by mental illness and alcohol abuse. There was no ring to assure she was and always will be part of our family, no fattened calf and no party. Instead, we sat at her bedside in an ICU, surrounded by beeps and the sound of the ventilator, IV bags and lines and a feeding tube. She was unable to respond to us, and after years of estrangement, she seemed like a stranger to me. I have counseled many who sat at the bed sides of their loved ones to share memories with them through stories. So, that's what I did -- I told her the stories of of our growing up together, recounting the adventures of our childhood. Through those stories, I reunited with the sister I grew up with. Paula, perky Paula, making friends wherever she went; always on the go, ready for anything and willing to try anything, at least twice; seldom ever silent, talking a mile a minute. Anger melted away as I r...