The older you get, the more dead people you know.

It’s just how the world works.  And usually I can deal with that; but this one is very painful.

My dear cousin Alice is gone.

Growing up, it was always the four of us against the world – me, my sister Linda, and our cousins Alice and her sister Marilyn.  We were more like four sisters than cousins.  In my younger days, I was closest with Marilyn because we were almost the same age (just months apart); Alice was 3 years older than me and Linda was 5 years older than me. 

As we entered adulthood, Linda and Marilyn married and had kids.  Understandably, kids change your world and your focus. 

Alice and I were kid-less.  We both (eventually) married, but we were DINKs (double-income, no kids), which gave us a kind of freedom in life that our sisters did not have.  No judgment, the life choices were fine; just different.  I like different, it makes us more interesting. 

Anyhow, Alice and I kept in close contact and, basically, we adored each other.  I knew why I loved Alice – so smart, funny, whimsical, caring.  She was so special to me.

I will never know why Alice adored me back; but there is a certain sense of wonder that goes with being loved like that. 

Now I’m dealing with the loss. 

I am angry with Alice for dying when she didn’t need to.  She simply stopped eating (except for a mouthful here and there).  She was well informed about the consequences but nobody (not even her “precious Terri Lee”) could get her to eat more than a bite.  Eventually, not eating takes a toll on your body and your mental status and it did; and the stubbornness about eating only got worse.

I wish I had been with Alice more during her decline, but I could not face a lot of it.  I went through this before with my husband’s sister and it triggered all kinds of negative feelings in me.  I visited as much as my schedule and my mind would allow.  Thankfully, Alice’s sister Marilyn stepped in, spending part of every day with Alice; making sure Alice got the best of care; and making sure Alice’s husband was doing what he needed to do.  Marilyn did everything I should have, and much much more.  Sitting and talking seeming nonsense with Alice; talking about their life together when Alice remembered.  And when Marilyn wasn’t there – Alice’s husband was there.  So Alice did not pass alone; Alice passed with loved ones at hand, hopefully, understanding how much she was loved. 

I hope I will be able to resolve my anger.  Because I still love Alice.

What I am grieving right now is my loss.  As selfish as it is, I am realizing that I am no longer someone’s “precious Terri Lee”, “my darling little cousin”.  And it hurts.