The towering tray of leftover Thanksgiving fare remained intact as I struggled to open the hospital room door. My sister sat poking cloves of cinnamon into an apple, hooked to happy juice. A year my senior, she was 33, my touchstone. Her eyes sparkled when she saw me. No one else was there to vie for her attention or extend well-meaning platitudes. Thank god or, maybe not. Religion had decimated my family. I was considered “bad,” my sister, not as much. We laughed and cried. She ate every morsel. I did not know then it would be her last supper.
Sandra Hudson is a retired nurse with a love of reading, writing, and travel. Her family is her center and art feeds her soul!