Remembering Michele

When you are grieving, dates matter. On October 19^th, it will be the anniversary of our grandmother’s death, but it is also the five-year anniversary of Michele being diagnosed with breast cancer. It is one year and ten months since her death. It is almost 4 years to the day of our mother’s unveiling. This is so much harder because losing Michele is the first time in my life that I’ve had to deal with something without her.

There are so many things that I miss about Michele that we would be here all day if I listed them all, but here are just a few.

1. Michele’s love of shopping and a deal was notorious – thanks to Howie, she was nicknamed Label. Our Boxing Day shopping extravaganzas were something that we always looked forward to. Michele would always find that little gem. One year, she found her favourite little black sequined dress. Whenever people complimented her on it, instead of saying thank you, she would proudly tell them it was $9.99 regular price $200.
2. Michele always had an honest opinion to share whether it was shopping or life. If we were shopping, and I’d ask her how a colour looked on me, she would give me the thumbs up or a disgusted look and say it’s awful. Or she would say, don’t you know your size? You aren’t as fat as you think you are. Another time, we were on a trip to Israel and let’s just say she thought I exaggerated about how high maintenance my friend was. She told me that I was right, and on a particularly bad day with said friend, she told her off and said friend said, well I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. Michele then proceeded to say, as only she could, “Oh you didn’t embarrass me, you embarrassed yourself.” I miss her candor – you never had to guess if she liked you or she didn’t.
3. Michele’s love of shopping was only matched by her love of junk food. Our treat queen didn’t discriminate between cookies, cakes, candy, or pie. She always had a candy drawer. She was also generous in sharing if you didn’t ask. My mother hounded Michele constantly for candy. Michele would give her an exasperated sigh and then slap licorice, jujubes or whatever the treat of the day was into her hand. My mother would invariably find her candy hiding spot and eat all the orange and red candy and my sister would open the drawer and see just the hated yellow and greens left. Michele would freak out – my mother would laugh, and all was right with the world.
4. Michele was always protective no matter how sick she was. I’m a weirdo magnet and Michele sometimes had to step in. One time, we were coming home from an appointment at Princess Margaret Hospital when I felt a nose in my hair. Michele gave the weirdo in question the dirtiest look, pulled me out of the way and let out an exasperated sigh. She was tiny but tough. Whether she was my bodyguard or just my confidante, I always felt protected knowing that my big sister had my back…and the back of my head.
5. Michele always looked tidy. She always was well dressed. Even more fascinating was how easy she was on her shoes. Her hundred or so pairs look like they have never been worn and her bags were equally pristine. She even fell with grace. One time I heard what could only be described as a light tinkling like bells, and then I heard Michele say can you help me up, I fell. I had no idea – only Michele could fall without a tell-tale thud.
6. Michele showed true strength and had a great outlook on life. She handled cancer the way she handled everything – in a forthright, unselfish, dignified way. From the time she found out that she had metastatic breast cancer to the time that her life ended, she always had hope. When she found out that she would lose her hair, she wore a wig that she picked out with Gail. When she felt sick, she still pushed herself to do things. We traveled, we went to plays, she went out with her friends. Although cancer was part of her life, she never let it overtake her life. She never complained and in the most important ways possible, she was my mother’s daughter.
7. Most of all, I just miss having my big sister. I took care of her physical needs, but she took care of me too. I know that she asked people to look after me when she died. It was typical of Michele to put others before herself and to consider my needs first. I said this before, but she knew that when she died, and I lost my immediate family, that although I may have a place to live, my heart has lost its home.

When I lost Michele, I lost all of my remember whens….I never knew a life without Michele in it – she was my oldest sister and the keeper of all the memories and our history. She remembered everything from me coming home from the hospital, things that we laughed about as children and things that we cried about as adults. Her loss is the first thing that I have had to do without her.

 “The enormity of the room whose door has quietly shut” describes how someone who is grieving feels. You walk into the lives of these people who have touched your own, like Michele. But when that door shuts, you can never walk through it again.

I don’t know if my sister realized how much space she took up in our lives and hearts. But now, although mine is filled with grief, it is also filled with love for my sister’s memory. With my sister’s death, I’ve lost my safe space BUT I know what she would have wanted for me. It is the same thing that my mother told me to do when she lay dying of the same disease that took Michele. Live your life she would say. I promise to do that for you Michele, to remind people that your life mattered and to carry you with me wherever I go.