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Edited on Tue Dec-19-06 07:35 PM by Radio_Lady
This has been a year bracketed by losses -- a former mentor and lover in January 2006 and my ex-husband in December 2006. I was just thinking today how fragile we are -- how little time we have to make the most of all of this experience of life.
I don't have siblings, but I've spoken to several friends and relatives this month. Just talked to my first cousin on my father's side and left a message for another cousin to call me (I spoke to his wife, whom I have never met). Also, I sent a long message to a first cousin once removed -- but so far, only one of these three males has responded.
You didn't explain the circumstances of your sister's and your nephew's demises and there is no need to, although I hope it wasn't homicide. However, I can't help but remember Larry King's interview of Laci Peterson's mother, which aired twice over the last week. Damn, I'm drawing a blank on Ms. Rocha's first name (is it Sharon?) -- but she came out with a book now. The sadness in her voice and eyes was palpable. She said there is no such thing as "closure." She has two other children and Laci's stepfather, as well as the natural father. The family is changed forever, of course.
Larry always says that there's no greater grief than losing a child; I've seen him interview Steve Lawrence and Edie Gorme, who lost a son; the late actor Carroll O'Conner, and the lawyer from the O. J. Simpson case Robert (last name -- darn this memory???) whose son overdosed this year. However, I would say losing a sibling or spouse is right up there -- and also a tiny unborn nephew.
I lost a stillborn girl, who was macrocephalic (huge head -- a birth defect), on November 30, 1960. We did not name her (this was with my first husband, whom I married at 19 years of age), and for years I had her death certificate saying BABY GIRL XXXX.
I occasionally think about her around Thanksgiving, and feel I know at least a smidgin of the pain you are feeling. My current husband married his now deceased wife on November 30, 1957. We have that odd bit of calendar business in common, somehow. I have lighted a candle on that date several times over the years.
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