A Reminder of Laughter

My sister and I never had a sibling rivalry, but we did have sibling frisson. We are both unnervingly similar and vastly different. The things we love, the people we cherish, the directions of our lives differ greatly, but the things that make us laugh and the world as we see it are one in the same. Illness has a way of revealing the depths of our relationships. Of course, not everyone is capable of confronting the realities revealed through a loved one’s health scare. Confronting one’s own mortality, even through the experiences of another person, has a way of making many of us turn away. But that was never the case with my sister, who masked her concern not with avoidance, but with an unusual form of nostalgia and a blast from the past.

Illness has a way of revealing the depths of our relationships.

Last year, the day after having a hours-long lung surgery, my sister strolled into my ICU recovery room without a care in the world. “Hey, loser!” she said while smirking, as if we were teenagers again fighting for the television remote in our childhood home’s family room. A long, drawn-out talk with her was not going to happen. Crying was certainly out of the question. But seeing my condition and treating me as she always had—as if nothing was wrong, as if this life-changing experience had not debilitated me—was surprisingly comforting. What I needed in those moments was a mix of support: the hand holding and the hugs and the long phone calls, sure. But also the silliness, the laughs, the reminders of what I once was. “Hey, nerd!” I replied. We both laughed.