The first holiday without Cindy

So, the first big holiday without Cindy has come and gone, and I have to say it went really, really well. Whereas, I thought I'd spend the majority of the day in tears, I didn't cry once. Throughout the day things would happen, and I could swear I could hear her voice, and maybe that's why it didn't affect me the way I expected - because I felt like she was there? I don't know - but one thing I do know, is at times I felt, and still do, feel guilty for not crying. I know without a shadow of a doubt, that's what she would've wanted, but still it lingers there, taunting me - that damn guilt. I guess I don't want her looking down and thinking that her not being there didn't matter, that she wasn't missed, because believe me she was, but I just can't shake feeling a little guilty over it.

During Cindy's funeral, the priest said that Cindy would continue to be with us. She'd give us signs, (like her patting me on the head) and she'd also appear to us in dreams.

I had a dream of her Saturday night.

She was hanging out with me and Jeff. Hanging out with us like we now know she used to hang with her friends. She was hanging out with us as the Cindy we never knew. Then the dream switched to her walking several yards in front of us, unstable, stumbling, and eventually falling. I ran to her and the next scene was my mother delivering her baby, right there, along side the curb. Oddly, when he was born he was a black baby. I held him in my arms, looked down at him, and then I woke up.

I don't know much about dream interpretation other than if you dream of a birth it means death. So, if anyone has insight into the meaning of dreams, please feel free to share.

Thankful

This Thanksgiving is especially difficult for me, as it is the first big holiday without Cindy. Since her passing, I don't take anything, or ANYONE for granted and I feel today is a good day to share the love.

Jeanie - you are my Rock! I don't know how I would've survived this past year from the robbery to Cindy, without you by my side. I am eternally thankful to God for sending you to me, even if he worked through our sons to do it. For everything - THANK YOU!

Kim - the first online friend I met in person. OMG, the fear on everyone's face when I told them I was meeting you - but I never had that fear (or my mace, because I left it home, remember? LOL) From our first phone conversation I felt I knew you my entire life and you became a staple, and a part of who I am today. Thank you for the laughs, through the good and the bad.

Malorie - The one that showed up at my 40th bday party when I was expecting Linda. You shocked the heck out of me and from that day on, I knew you were someone that I could count on. I loved visiting you to do the "halloween" thing - even if it did suck, and look forward to more visits, in addition to the annual convention. You were my itunes tutor and my editor for BD and you never called me an idiot -so thank you! Thank you for being a ray of sunshine in my life.

KEren - I love our texts about a certain someone and I'm more than honored that you'd come to ME for advice. Thank you for being the awesome woman you are, and for crossing the country every year for the convention. I look forward to seeing you grow, get married, and have your own kids. Thank you for being the daughter I never had.

Linda - what can I say about you? You have taught me sooo much and when I'm with you there is nothing but laughter and smiles. I miss our nightly chats and the secrets shared, but mostly lets not forget the online drinking game! One of the best nights of my life - hilarious! Thank you for always being there for me.

Eline - my rising star! Thank you for sharing your dream with me, and asking me for help and/or advice on your songs. You inspire me to keep following my dreams, so THANK YOU!

Jeff - my brother and friend. We've been through hell and back and I'm glad that as adults, through it all, our relationship has continued to blossom and I consider you one of my best friends. Thank you for always being there, Italy, and for teaching me how to live the life.

Michael - I loved you since I was six. Through thick and thin we've stayed together and continue to prove everyone wrong when they told us we shouldn't get married 18.5 years ago. I look forward to making the rest of our dreams come true, and growing old together. But just remember - I'm dying first! LOL

To my parents - thank you for life and for the support system we have 'together'

My kids - you keep me on my toes and I love you.

Cindy - I miss you everyday but I find peace in knowing that you are in a better place and happier than this earth could ever make you. I love you.

I am thankful to ALL of you and to anyone I've forgotten...don't take it personally - you know how I feel about you and I'm blessed to have you all in my life as well.

Which one would you choose?

Over the next several weeks, I research, for my own sanity, the symptoms of depression. I realize I do not have them. I am merely going through the grievance process and every single feeling and emotion is expected. Even the days where I go back 3 steps - totally expected and NORMAL. But, upon researching the symptoms, I begin to believe that my husband may not be so lucky. His personality change. His withdrawal from me and his hobby...all signs that he is definetely depressed. I talk to him numerous times and finally, after months of denial, about two weeks ago he admits it. Like a miracle, as soon as he he admitted it he got better. Our relationship is better than ever and he is back to collecting his 'crap' as I affectionately call it.

It was Cindy's 6 month anniversary yesterday. SIX MONTHS since the day she died - I can't believe it's been that long. Six months and STILL no autopsy results. Turns out the woman that was assigned to the case, went out on sick leave for 6 weeks and they never reassigned the case. She's back now - and we still have no answers. I just wish I knew what happened.

Welcome to the present day....

My father in law has been suffering from cancer for about 7 years now. It started as bladder cancer and then went to prostrate. After 2 sessions of chemo and 1 radiation, my father in law, now 76, refused any further treatment. That is his choice. His right. It's his life.

About 3 years ago he suffered a stroke. During the tests following that, they found a spot on his brain. The doctors wanted to do more tests to see if it was scar tissue from the stroke or if the cancer spread to his brain. He knew he would NOT be treating it if it was cancer, so instead of doing the test, he decided he didn't want to know what it was. It was never spoken of again.

Over the past year he has been suffering from, what doctors call, dementia. His long term memory is as sharp as a tack, short term...he can't remember what you told him 2 seconds ago. All that is fine and dandy, but when whatever he has makes him violent - it's time to take action.

My mother in law called me this morning, in tears. Last night my father in law got so violent that she actually feared for her life. She tells me that recently he gets really aggrevated at night. I recall my girlfriend who is going through the same thing with her step father and there was a specific name linked to it - Sundown Syndrome. I print out information on it, leave work and bring it to my mother in laws office. She brings me to the break room and fills me in on EVERYTHING.

He's turned extremely violent at night. Has physically tried to hurt her. Has accused her of cheating on him. He has threatened to kill her, others and himself. Remembering he has a gun cabinet I tell her she needs to get the keys immediately! I tell her she can NOT handle him on her own anymore. She is to keep her cell phone in her pocket at all times, and she HAS to call either one, or both of her sons, and/or the police - regardless of the time!

This is NOT something she can take lightly. She needs to not only protect herself, and virtual strangers, but him as well. We all know this isn't him, it's the disease, but there comes a time and a place we have to say ENOUGH and do something that we never thought we would have to do, like possibly call the police on him, so he can be sedated.

I told my mother of the latest developments and she says, "See, this is why I would refuse chemo. If he would've just let it take him all those years ago, he wouldn't be going through this now." I don't necessarily agree with that statement, so I came in here to get your view on the situation....

Here is this 76 year old man, that raised the man that love, slowly succumbing to the inevitable...and there was Cindy, 49, and suddenly taken from us. Both are heartbreaking stories - but what would you choose?

Would you choose to let the disease win without a fight from the very beginning or would you fight, get 7-10 more years of life, even if they weren't healthy years?

Back to the real world

Turns out we finished the apartment in one day. We scheduled Goodwill to come and pick everything up. Furniture, clothes, CD's the works. Cindy would've wanted all the stuff donated to charity and so did we.

Jeff drives me and my mom half way and my husband meets us. We have a quick lunch and then say our good-byes to Jeff. One thing my mother and I have both noticed is, as a family, we seem almost addicted to each other and the moment one is out of sight we start to panic. We know this is normal, but it's all new to us.

Once home, my Dad is there waiting for us. I know my parents relationship, and I know how my Dad is, so I tell my Mom, if she needs me, to call, any time, any day, doesn't matter and I will be there.

It's weird being home. Over the past week I was going with the flow, disconnecting myself from the emotion just to get through it, and running around non-stop. Now my life goes on - without my sister.

I stand at the counter opening the countless sympathy cards, surprised at some of the people that sent them and disappointed that certain people didn't. I honestly, don't remember the rest of that first day back - I think I was just there.

The next morning, I wake up and shortly after that, my phone rings. It's my mother - she doesn't say any words, but I know she needs me.

"I'm on my way," I say, and hang up. I run to the bedroom, and my husband is looking at me. I explain, "My mom needs me. I gotta go. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He's looking at me like I have three heads. "She's hysterical. I just can't leave her there, I have to be with her."

It ticks me off a bit that he doesn't 'get it', but I don't care. At the moment my priorities have shifted. I kiss everyone good-bye and head out to my parents.

I see my mom, embrace her and she sobs. Then she tells me she was going through all of Cindy's bills, to call the companies and tell them she had passed away, and she was just getting completely overwhelmed. I take 1/2 the stack and say, "I'll call these, you call those."

After my first phone call. I step outside and call my husband. "I just need to help her with some of these bills and then Ill be home."

"We have bills to do too, you know."

I'm floored. What the hell is wrong with him? This isn't how he normally is, at all.

"I understand that, but we can do them when I get home, or, YOU can do them. My mother just lost her daughter and she needs me right now. I'll be home as soon as I can."

On the way home, I called my girlfriend, Jeanie. I have failed to mentioned that from the day I found out my sister died, she had been my rock.

She had lost her brother about 4 years earlier and it was such a comfort to talk to someone that KNEW what I was experiencing. She even came with me when I had to go shopping for things for the funeral. I had decided since Cindy LOVED the color pink, we'd all wear something pink, so I got pink ties for my husband and kids, and pink accessories for me and my Mom. I don't think I would've gotten through that shopping spree, or any of this, without her.

So, I call her and tell her what happened. She's just as confused as I am - it really is out of character for him to be like that. I decide to brush it off - little did I know that was just the beginning.

Over the next several days, I have my meltdowns...each time my ten year old coming to comfort me and my husband walking away. On the worst day I call Jeanie and sob hysterically to her. I am seriously having a panic attack, as I think about the possibility of going through the next 40 years without my sister. How can I go through 40 years without ever hearing her voice, or talking to her again? She talks to me - stays on the phone for as long as I need her, and then we hang up.

I thank God for her - she keeps me sane...Especially since I am starting to feel that I lost my husband, right along with my sister.

Do you ever really know someone?

The day after the funeral my husband and kids head back home, and I go to the police station with my parents to finish up some legal things.

One thing we had to do was get the paperwork done, so we would be allowed to go up into her apartment to clean it out. If we didn't have this paperwork, and we go in there to clean it out, we could be arrested. PLUS, the apartment was sealed after her death, so we had to make arrangements for someone to UNseal it for us.

We get the paperwork done, and while waiting for a police officer to escort us to the apartment to 'cut the seal', we are told to go to another section of the huge building, where we can pick up her belongings.

Pick up her belongings? We didn't even know they confiscated stuff.

My father waits behind and I head off to the room with my mom to get Cindy's stuff. We finally get helped and a woman plops 2 large, over stuffed, gallon-sized, zip lock bags in front of us. Seeing what it was we both gasp.

There, thrown into those bags, were all of Cindy's jewelry. Jewelry that my mother wanted to put Cindy on for the viewing, that she couldn't find. EVERYTHING. Every single necklace, bracelet, watch, earring, and ring was a tangled, mangled mass thrown together.

"When did you do this?" my mother asked, appalled.

"When she died, before anyone got there we collected her jewelry, so no one would steal it."

"You did this BEFORE my son got there? How do I know the cop didn't take something?"

"Well, that's why we send TWO cops - so that doesn't happen."

My mother and I burst out laughing.

She looked insulted, and I said, "Oh, yeah, I'm sure that completely solves that possibility. It's not like they would cover for each other or anything."

She answers, "Everything is inventoried and thrown into the bag and sealed."

"How do we know a diamond ring wasn't pocketed? This should've been done with a family member present!" my mother adds.

Her reply?

"It is the law here, and this is what we do!"

Luckily, Cindy didn't have any expensive jewelry, but still...In that moment I was never so happy to be out of that state.

After at least six hours there, we are finally on our way to Cindy's apartment. On the ride over, I am realizing that I'm going to be standing right where Cindy died, and in that moment, I just want to throw up.

We follow the cop to the apartment and I prepare myself, and try to get my emotions under control for my mother's sake. I step inside...and I'm okay.

I'm okay.

We stay only a moment and then head back to Jeff's.

The three of us had agreed to clean out Cindy's apartment, to get it over with, but my Dad actually wanted to go home, and come back in a few days to do it, but that just wasn't feasible. Jeff and I both had off from work now, and it just made sense.

If you remember my earlier post, my dad was the strict one. You do things when HE wants it done, or else. This was probably the first time in the man's life, that the three of us stood up to him.

I calmly said, "Look, if you can't take this, or it's too much to handle, that's fine, but the three of us are going to stay behind and do this now. We want to get this over with, and to prolong it and know we have to come back in few days isn't fair. So if you need to go home, you can."

He did, later that evening, but he assumed that there was no way that we'd get it done in just one or two days anyway, and he'd be back to help.

After he left, we headed out to pick up cleaning supplies for the next dreaded day.

We wake up early, eat quickly, and are at Cindy's in record time. Our mind set? Just do it as quickly as we can, and get the hell out of there. None of us wanted to be there and our goal, as crazy and impossible as it sounded was, to get it done in ONE day.

One hour after being there, Louie and Madeline, the young couple that was at the funeral home, came over. Apparently, my mother had told them we'd be there and told them to come over and take something of Cindy's that they would like to remember her by. What they did next floored us all.

"We're not here to take something and leave, we came here to help."

"You don't have to do that. Really, it's okay, it's not your responsibility," I say.

"We were her friends, that's what friends do."

I love these people. I seriously, with all that I am, LOVE these people.

We all take sections of the apartment and start filling black garbage bags and boxes. It got a little overwhelming when I would stop and think about how her life is just being thrown in black bags, and how nothing she owned, collected, or had, mattered. I recalled my priest saying that exact thing on several occasions during his weekly homily in church. Materialistic things don't matter - you can't bring it with you. I see, first hand, just how true this statement is. And it is so freakin' sad. I quickly snap out of it, knowing if I keep thinking about this I'll break down, and quickly refocus, to just GET-THE-JOB-DONE.

We break for lunch and go to one of Cindy's favorite restaurants across the street from her apartment. It's a nice break, in a nice restuarant, and I sat there and thought, I could be friends with these people. And if I could be friends with these people, and Cindy was friends with these people....nothing made sense. We should've all gotten along better with Cindy if she had friends like these.

We get back to the apartment and I come across a Whitesnake CD. I laugh and say, "What the heck is she doing with a Whitesnake CD?"

Jeff joins in with me chuckling, and Louie says, "She loved Whitesnake."

"She what?" I ask, shocked.

"Oh yeah! She LOVED them. One of her favorite bands."

"Cindy? Cindy loved Whitesnake?" my brother interjects.

"Oh yeah!"

I continue to pack things and think Cindy, the one who hates loud music, fireworks, balloons, and listens to Neil Diamond, Bobby Sherman, the Bay City Rollers, and country music, loves Whitesnake? None of this makes sense!

I hear Louie, ask my mother if she'd seen a specific picture of the two of them, because if anything, that's what he wanted from the apartment. She remembers seeing it, digs it out, and hands it to him. I walk over to him and he hands me the picture.

He has tears in his eyes and says, "We were at a party and I asked her to dance." And there she was smiling ear to ear, dancing with Louie.

I go back to packing - more confused than ever as to who she really was.

Actions DO speak louder than words

Nearing the end of the night, a priest that she knew really well, did the final prayer service. (Let's call him Father John, since I don't remember his name.)

He told us how special Cindy was, and how she was by far the most dedicated cathecist the entire diocese had ever known.

She had a student named Tim that suffered from a severe case of ADD. Apparently, other teachers had not been successful with him, but Cindy was able to reach him. Friday night, the night before she died, she was Tim's confirmation. Everyone knew Cindy wasn't feeling well, and they kept telling her she should go home, but she refused, and would say, "I have to be here for Timmy. I have to be here!"

During the confirmation, Father John looked over at Cindy and said her entire face was just beaming! She was so proud of Tim, and in that moment he understood why she was there. She simply needed to be there.

He continued on, and this is when we had found out that she was considering becoming a nun. He pretty much talked her out of it, and told her all the work she is doing is in God's name. She's already spreading the word of God to these children, and she doesn't need to become a nun to do God's work. (I assume he talked her out of becoming a nun, because he wanted her to find love) After that, she started considering the missionaries.

After the confirmation there was a reception and Cindy attended it, still not feeling well, and obviously sick. She wasn't socializing, or eating, and after much convincing, she finally agreed to the let Father John drive her home.

About a block from her apartment he asked how she was doing and she slurred her words. He was immediately concerned and asked, "Cindy are you sure you are okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm just really tired. I just want to home, put my pajamas on and go to sleep."

He watched her get out, and go into her apartment without incident. She didn't stumble or anything, she just walked in.

He finished the prayer service and afterwards, approached the family. When he approached me, I embraced him and crying said, "Thank you. That was beautiful!"

Holding back tears, he apologized to me and said, "I'm sorry. I should've made her go to the hospital - I didn't know."

I cupped his face in my hands and said, "You could've have known. You did nothing wrong."

And I thought I felt guilt. I felt nothing compared to this man.

We went back to the hotel that night, numb. I knew the only reason I would even sleep was from sheer exhaustion. As I layed there, a million questions ran through my mind. I just needed to know if she was okay.

About five minutes after lying there, fully awake, I felt something on my head. I moved my head and then I felt several distinctive pats to the top of my head.

I immediately asked my husband, "Did you just touch my head?"

He said, "No."

After explaining what just happened, he said, "Well you know who that was, don't you?"

I said, "Yea, Cindy was just saying, I love you and I'm okay."

I was dreading the funeral service. No matter what, the music at the church during a funeral, ALWAYS gets to me. But strangely, once the mass got under way, a feeling so powerful and so amazing overcame me. The only word to explain what the feeling is complete and total -peace.

I had never, in my entire life, had a feeling like that, and in that moment I just knew, she was happy.

The next several days are a whirlwind. But, one thing that I am so grateful for is...the family agreed on EVERYTHING!

There wasn't one single thing that someone suggested that was dismissed or anyone thought, no way, we need to do it this way. We all agreed and it made things so much easier.

I, somehow, remembered that she had told me that she wanted to be cremated, so we all agreed that we should have her viewing and funeral in New York, where all of her friends were, but her final resting place would be in Pennsylvania, by us. We also agree we will insist on an autopsy.

She passed away on a Saturday, so Jeff took care of as much as he could before my parents arrived on Sunday. He talked with her friends and found out about her church, a funeral parlor, the works. I would arrive on Monday night with my husband and the kids. The viewing is on Tuesday and the funeral on Wednesday.

Plans are made that I will stay behind and help my parents clean out her apartment, because, hey, the landlord wants to rent it out ASAP *eye roll*

We arrive in New York, check into the hotel, and then meet up with my parents, Jeff, and his good friends for dinner. I take a moment and listen. We are laughing. We are actually LAUGHING. I smile and think, "Thank you God for this moment, because I know the next few days will be pure hell."

We arrive at the funeral parlor early afternoon on Tuesday. Cindy's not ready, so we wait in the below freezing lobby. But me, who is usually cold, LOVES it. It is decided that I would go in with my parents and Jeff, before I bring the kids in. At this point, I don't know how my mother is going to react, or myself for that matter. Walking in I think this will be easier for Jeff, because he already saw her at the worst.

After the initial shock, the mortician steps up and asks how she looks. My Mom looks to me and I say, "Her lipstick needs to be darker, not red, but not light pink either." My Mom adds, "And her eyeliner has to be thicker." She does what we ask, but nicely adds, "You said to do her makeup natural, and that's how I did it." *whatever* Afterwards, she steps back and waits for approval. I smile, THAT'S Cindy. Once I see we are all, okay, I go out and get my husband and kids.

Shortly after our arrival, and well before regular visiting hours, there is a young couple that walk in.

I look at the guy and think, "Wow, who's he?"

Seriously, I didn't think my sister would hang out with someone, so...hip? I guess, that's a way I can put it. I immediately assume that he's the young woman's husband.

More people arrive, tons from the churches she worked at over the years, some from NYU hospital that she volunteered at. Lifelong friends she's had, because once Cindy made a friend, THEY WERE FRIENDS FOR LIFE!!!! Seriously, no exaggeration! The most touching visits were when the parents of the kids from CCD came. Did I mention the students Cindy taught had disabilities?

I warned my kids, especially my teenager, that he'd be getting hugs from complete strangers, and to just go with it - but what came next shocked them.

Countless people would go up to them and tell them stories that Cindy had passed on.

They'd say, "Oh my God how much she loved you."

"Oh you just made communion, she was so proud."

"She was your Godmother."

They knew E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G!

One thing is certain, if my kids didn't know how much Cindy loved them before, they KNEW it now.

Several hours into the viewing I look back and the young couple that walked in first, are still there. I think its strange, I mean, who stays for four hours at a viewing when its not a family member.

I see Jeff and my husband talking to them, and decide I need to find out who they are. I walk into a conversation they are having and just listen. Eventually, we get to introductions and I learn that he is the guy that was changing Cindy.

He is the reason she was dressing better and looked so happy.

He is the one that was changing her life, and making her love herself, and helping her realize she is worth something.

He said, "She started taking the subway again. I told her just because she walks with a cane didn't mean she had to take the special transit for handicapped people. So what if it took her a few extra seconds to get off the train, if she wanted to get on a subway - DO IT!"

God Bless him!

He turns to me and says, "It's such a shame that this happened now. She was just about to spread her wings and fly and this happens. It's not fair. But, I want you to know in the last year she was happy!"

Did I say, God Bless him? I mean THANK YOU GOD FOR SENDING HIM TO CINDY - BLESS HIM FOREVER!

I quickly invite them to have dinner with us and he wants to make sure he's not imposing, they aren't family. Jeff quickly points out that you don't have to be blood to be family, and they are more than welcome.

After dinner break, more priests, nuns, etc show up, but we find it strange that her best friend and lifelong friend from high school doesn't show up. I assume that maybe it was just too hard for her come.

During the next group we learn so much about more about Cindy than we ever knew. We knew she taught CCD at a church - we didn't know it was 2 churches. We didn't know that it wasn't just going there on a Saturday mornings and teaching them, it was creating lesson plans and giving extra help. It was meetings and more meetings. We didn't know that she had changed the lives of these disabled children on the level that she did, and that she had the patience of saint with them, even at their most difficult times. We didn't know that both churches valued her so much, that one is putting an engraved stone in their prayer garden, and the other is putting a gold leaf on their tree of life in their church. We didn't know that NYU is starting a hydrocephalis fund in her name.

I don't think there was a single person that walked in that room and didn't say, "She loved the children. She loved the children."

We looked at pictures people brought of her at parties and functions and she was smiling and happy, and laughing and dancing.

We didn't know that she was considering entering the missionary OR becoming a nun.

We didn't know.

We didn't know this side of her.

We didn't know Cindy - AT ALL!

"You're kidding me, right?"

"You're kidding me! You're kidding me, right? You're kidding me..."

I can hear the words reverberating off my bedroom walls, as I say them over and over into the phone. My head, now cloudy from the shock of what my ears just heard, desperately trying to comprehend if the words were really spoken at all.

'It can't be happening,' I rationalize, as I am suddenly transformed into a living nightmare. 'There's got to be a mistake, ' I think, as the above words continue to spew from my mouth. My mouth, mind and being, all seem to be detached from each other in this quick, but unending second, that changed my life forever.


xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox


I was prepping the kitchen walls to be painted on a beautiful Saturday in May. I remember the lack of humidity and heat. The windows were open and I was excited fo finally be painting my kitchen the way I wanted it. Finally, exhausted, I decided to take a quick nap before having to get ready to go to the Sunday night vigil at church.

At around 2:10 p.m., I kiss my kids and my husband, announcing that I'm taking a nap, and head off to the bedroom, shutting the door on my life as I knew it.

Ten minutes into my nap, my cell phone sings in the kitchen, and my kids hurry to grab it.

"Private number, Mom," they say, opening my bedroom door.

"Private number?" I question. "Probably a wrong number. Let it go to voice mail," I answer, rolling over.

An hour later, and not really falling back to sleep after the interruption, I quickly grab my cell phone off the kitchen counter and retrieve my voicemail.

"Yes, this is Sergeant Adams from the New York Precinct. If you could call me back at Mrs. Millio's number ........ it's in regards to your sister, Cynthia ....."

I replay the message again, making sure I copied the number down correctly, and delete the message. Part of me is thinking this is a scam of some sort, the other part of me calm and nervous simultaneously.

I dial the number with a shaky hand, wondering why I'm shaking, and get, 'the number you have dialed can not be completed as dialed. Please check the number and dial again.'

'What the hell? I KNOW I dialed right' I think, as I redial it and get the same message. I try to retrieve my voicemail message, but I deleted it and I can't get it back.

I go into the living room and explain the situation to my husband.

"It's probably just a scam. Why would they call you if something was wrong? Don't worry about it."

I walk back into my bedroom and it's just not sitting right. I decide to call my Mom.

"Did you get a strange call from a New York cop?"

"No," she replies, and I hear her relaying what I said to my Dad. He has the same opinion as my husband.

"Have you called Cindy?" she suggests, feeling the same uneasiness that I am, though unspoken, I could tell.

'DUH! I'm such an idiot! I think. I immediately hang up and call Cindy. It goes directly to voice mail.

Next, I call Jeff. I pass on the Sergeants name and the number that he left and Jeff says he'll look into it and call me back.

Over the next 50 minutes, I am continuously making calls between, the number that can't be completed as dialed, Cindy, my Mom and Jeff.

At one point, I call Jeff and ask him if he found anything out. It doesn't go unnoticed that it sounds like he's in a car.

"No, I told you I'm still looking into it, and I'll let you know."

'How can he look into it from a car?' I think, but let it go and we hang up.

I try the 'can't be completed as dialed' number, one more time, and this time, it goes through.

A woman answers the phone and I say, "Yeah, I got a phone call from a Sergeant Adams saying to call this number."

"Who's this?" the woman asks.

"This is Karen. Who's THIS?" I ask, somewhat snottily, thinking this smells more like a scam.

"My name is ----- Millio. I work with your sister in CCD."

"Okay..."

"So, this morning she didn't show up for CCD class. I tried calling her several times with no answer..."

My heart starts pounding in my chest - I KNOW where this is going.

"...we decided to go to her apartment and we knocked on the door, but didn't get an answer, so,..."

'This can't be happening, I KNOW what she is going to say, and it can't be real' I freak out, in my mind.

"...we got the landlord to let us in, and..."

'don't say it!' I shout, silently.

"...I'm sorry to tell you honey, when we got inside we found that she had passed away."

As if in a vacuum, I feel no air, as I am completely numb.

I start yelling, "You're kidding me! You're kidding me, right? You're kidding me!"

I look up and see my husband standing there. I don't know when he walked in the room, and I don't know how long he was there, but I see his mouth drop open and his eyes open wide.

"No, honey, I'm sorry, I'm not. You know she hadn't been well..."

'Hadn't been well?' I didn't know that. Hell, we just saw her a few weeks ago for Chris' birthday...

"Oh..." I muster out.

"She was at a party at the church last night for confirmation, and she didn't feel well; she didn't look good, and she wasn't eating."

Snapping into some form of composure I suddenly get very protective of Cindy.

"Where is she now?" I ask, hastily.

"She's in the apartment and Jeff is on his way..."

"Jeff? Jeff doesn't know, I just talked to him."

"When?"

"I don't know, ten minutes, maybe?"

"Well, I guess the sergeant got a hold of him, but he's on his way."

I can't remember the rest of the conversation, all I remember is thanking her for calling and her apologizing to me again.

I hang up, look into my husband's eyes, shocked, and cry, "Cindy died."

I immediately start sobbing, GUILT the first emotion to surface, as I quickly remember I refused her last phone call. I continue to sob into his chest, until panic quickly surfaces as I think of my parents. This is not the time to cry - I need to be strong for my Mom!

I run back to the phone and immediately call Jeff.

"Are you on your way to Brooklyn?" I yell at him.

"Maaaybe," he answers, tentatively.

"Jeff, I talked to her friend, I know!" I snap at him.

"You know what?"

"Jeff - I KNOW! I got through to that phone number, and her girlfriend found her," I explain.

"Shit, I was hoping it was a case of misidentity, or they went into the wrong apartment. But if her girlfriend saw her...I guess it's true," he answers, his hopes destroyed in an instant.

Protectiveness comes out again.

"What do I do with Mom and Dad?" I weep, concerned how my mother is going to handle this.

"Just let me see it for myself before we say anything. Once I see it myself, I'll call them and tell them you're on your way."

For the next half hour my family and I all walked around in a daze. My oldest saying he didn't want to go to Grandma's. I know now it was because he'd cry, and being a teenager, he's too cool for that.

"Honey," I gently explain, "this is what you do when something like this happens. You gather with your family and friends. It's how you get through it."

"She looked so good last time we saw her," my husband says, numb and confused. "She'd lost weight, and was happier and looked healthier than I'd seen her in forever. What happened?"

"They say she'd been sick. I had no idea."

Finally, I get the call from Jeff.

"It's real. I called Mom and told her you're on your way."

"Are you okay? What do you have to do now?" I ask, wishing I could be there with him.

"I have to wait for the medical examiner to come." My instinct is to go to him. He's there alone - he shouldn't be there alone, but it would take me four hours to drive, and I'm not in any shape to drive, I know that.

"Are you okay? Is there someone you can call?"

"I called my friend in Jersey, he's coming out to sit with me."

We hang up and I refuse to cry; there's things that have to be done, and I have to keep my head on straight.

I ask my husband to call the dogsitter, while I grab my stuff, he does, but breaks down in the middle of leaving a message. I grab the phone and hang it up. I call back, leave a message explaining the situation and ask if she can help me out over the next few days.

I hang the phone up, and we all float to the car and over to my parents...

If I knew then, what I know now...

My sister was involved with someone for close to 20 years. I say 'involved' because she had a body in the apt with her, but there was no love between them. For example, when her medical problems would flair, he was kind enough to put her in a cab to go to the hospital, and then he'd call my parents and act like he was a hero for hailing a cab. They broke up about two years ago because he wanted to move to the Pocono's and she couldn't leave her doctors.

This was a blessing, but also a nightmare.

During those years he tore her down emotionally and left her with no self worth, so this was the blessing. Unfortunately, she also relied on him financially and this was the nightmare. My parents helped out with the rent, but she was barely hanging on. She became one of these people that had to choose medication or food. But soon a temporary answer fell into my lap.

My girlfriend, a young woman from out of the area, was going to be in NY for several months and needed a place to stay. I immediately thought of Cindy. Here, she'd get some extra help with the rent. I called Cindy and she was all for it. I told my parents, and suddenly I was a hero.

"Thank you for thinking of her and helping her," my mom said.

"Of course I want to help her, she's my sister and it just made sense," I reply, happy it all worked out so perfectly.

Christopher's birthday party was a few weeks later. A few days before Cindy arrived, she called me and said that she had been dieting and had lost a bunch of weight. She said she was a few pounds shy of her high school weight, and you could hear in her voice just how ecstatic she was. I told her that was great, and couldn't wait to see her.

The day she arrived, I walked into my parents house and I was floored.

"Wow, you look great!" I exclaimed, hugging her, and she did! But there was something else, she had changed somehow.

Like I said in my previous post, she always 'acted' older, but I failed to mention that she also dressed older too. But on this day, here she stood before me, finally dressing like a 49 year old woman and not like she was 70.

She looked - fantastic! No, wait, she looked happy.

As you all know by now, my relationship with Cindy was up and down. We could get along great on the phone and through the computer, but put us face to face and I'd clam up. I admit it - it was all me, but I had my reasons.

I am NOT a touchy feely kind of person, and Cindy was.

Now, down't get me wrong, I don't have an issue giving someone a hug hello, goodbye or if they obviously need comfort, or have done something nice for me, but not all-the-time.

Everytime Cindy would come for a visit, at some point, she'd corner me. I mean, literally, corner me. She actually followed me into the bathroom one day. Anyway, once she had me, she'd tell me how much she'd loved me, and how grateful she was that I was her sister. I would smile and say I love her too and give her a hug. But then it wouldn't stop. Later on she'd walk by and rub my back, pat my head, you'd turn around and she'd be there, and it would just make me uncomfortable.

So, my answer to this problem - avoid her. I didn't want to hurt her feelings and that just seems like the way to handle it. I'd make myself busy and preoccupied, constantly. Right or wrong - it's what I did.

During Christopher's birthday party my Mom wanted to get a family picture of us. We never had one done. My wedding, the holidays, someone always seemed to be missing or we didn't think of it when we were all there, so my Mom jumped on the chance.

So we lined up in my living room and my girlfriend took our picture. Little did I know it would be first, and the last family picture.

After Cindy left to go home, my mom called me with a concern in regards to my girlfriend staying with Cindy. I was furious that my mother butt her nose in, when everything was perfect, and told her if this wasn't going to work Cindy had better let me know asap so my girlfriend, who I now felt responsible for, could hopefully find another place to stay.

A few days later the phone rang and it was Cindy.

"We have a problem. I can't have your girlfriend stay here. I spoke with the landlord and she will raise my rent $100 and will keep it raised even after she leaves," she happily says.

Her tone infuriated me, and I didn't necessarily believe her 100%. Raising her rent $100 while she was there, okay, but that was the amount that my girlfriend was going to give her anyway. But for her landlord to keep it raised AFTER she left, I didn't buy it.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I reply, "That's just fine Cindy, but you know what, you should've talked to your landlord before you said she could stay with you!"

"What? She still has time to find something," she states, unconcerned. (Did I mention my girlfriend is barely 20?)

"It's not that easy for a young woman to find a safe place to stay in New York, Cindy. You should've checked all this out before you said she could stay! She accepted the internship on the grounds of having someplace to live."

"I'm sorry," she says, finally getting that I'm pissed and this IS a big deal.

"I gotta go. I can't do this right now," I stammer out, shitting a brick, because I have just royally screwed my friend, when all I wanted to do was help.

"I'm sorry," she repeats.

"I gotta go." I hang up, pissed.

I call my brother and ask if he knows anyone looking for a roommate. He says no, but he'll ask around. I immediately email my girlfriend explaining the situation, and apologize emphatically. I email EVERYONE I am friends with on facebook that I know lives in one of the five boroughs, begging for help.

Thankfullymy girlfriend was more than understanding, and wasn't mad at all. I, however, wasn't as understanding or forgiving.

I am stubborn.

I hold grudges.

These are some of my many faults. I am not proud of them, but it is who I am.

About two weeks later Mother's day arrives. The phone rings and it's Cindy. I knew she'd call, she always does. I don't answer, she doesn't leave a message. A few hours later, the phone rings. It's Cindy. I don't answer, she doesn't leave a message.

We sit down for dinner, the phone rings, I look at caller ID and say to myself, "Okay, she's being a bigger person than me, I know that. Maybe I should just answer it." But, I still don't answer it, and this time she leaves a message. I listen to the message of her wishing me a happy mother's day and then delete it.

About a week later, I'm sitting at work and there's a nagging, non-stop feeling that I need to drop this. My girlfriend found another place by this time, and I needed to let all this go. I needed to stop being mad at my Mom and just move on. Granted, I was still mad at Cindy, but I needed to move on with my mother.

The voice in my head wouldn't stop.

It was relentless.

It was screaming!

So, I IM'd my husband, and emailed one of my best friends.

"You have every right to be mad! If you want to drop it, go ahead, but you have a right. You tried to help and it got all screwed up and put you in a bad position," my husband responds.

My girlfriend responds, "She's your mom. You're only mom. You need to forget about it."

I silenced the voices in my head and went back to work.

If I knew then, what I know now...

Once upon a time...

I figured before we go any further, I should tell you a bit about my childhood, and a little bit more about who I am, and the relationship I have with my family, including my sister.

I was born and raised in Staten Island, New York. I'm the youngest child of three, with Cindy being the oldest, and Jeff, my brother, being the middle child. There are four years between each of us.

We grew up in a typical, middle-class, American family. My Mom was a stay at home Mom, and my Dad was a NYC corrections officer. My Dad was the strict one -but that's what he grew up with, and that's what he knew. You did what he said, WHEN he said it, or you'd be sorry. Cindy and Jeff took the brunt of this. I guess by the time I came around, he had lightened up a bit, or I just really behaved - don't know which.

My idol growing up was none other than my big brother. I was a tom-boy and hung around with him more than he probably really wanted me to, but he was a good sport about it. We played Star Trek and used all the fazer's and communication thingies he made himself!!! We went dirt biking, and when we were on long car trips with our parents, he sat in the back seat with me, with a Golden, hard covered book, pretending it was a steering wheel right along with me. When we visited extended family, if there were no cousins around, Jeff and I would play cards or board games, until it was finally time to leave. He was my hero, the coolest big brother EVAH, and I loved him to death!

The relationship with my sister, Cindy, was different. She was eight years older than me and thought she was my second mother. When we went to visit extended family, she was 'too old and mature' to hang with me and Jeff, so she'd be in the other room with the 'adults.' Although, physical fighting was forbidden in the house, we verbally fought constantly and I disliked her for always bossing me around. She moved out on her own when I was about ten or so. Things improved once she moved out of the house, and we got along pretty well. Once I became an adult, there were times I considered her one of my closest friends, and on occasion my best friend, but then something would always seem to happen. She's say or do something that rubbed me the wrong way, and we'd argue and be mad at each other for a while. But, after a few weeks, things would smooth over and I'd consider her a good friend again. We had our ups and downs, but we were always there for the each other. THIS was our relationship.

My sister was born premature and always had problems doing things that every other child takes for granted. She was always off balance, could never really ride a bike very well, never learned how to roller skate, and always complained of headaches. It wasn't until she was 18 that we learned she had been suffering from hydrocephalus her whole life. (Water on the brain). www.hydrocephalus.org/facts.htm

After 42 surgeries (because her body kept rejecting the shunt), sometimes three or four in one year, and after missing my wedding day because of complications from a surgery which left her partially paralyzed (temporarily), she finally had a stretch with no surgeries. She did, however, suffer several ramifications from that last surgery like having to walk with a cane (because her balance was worse), being partially deaf in one ear, and having a lazy eye.

Not being able to work due to her disability, and realizing the fact that she could not have children, she had a choice to make. She could sit at home and feel sorry for herself, or she could do something about it.

She turned to volunteer work.

She taught CCD at her catholic church, and taught the children's choir. She volunteered at NYU's pediatric ward every Tuesday, and contributed to the hydrocephalus organization by helping people that were recently diagnosed with the condition, come to terms with it, and explain what was happening, and what to expect. She also wrote her story for doctor's conferences and conventions, so they could learn from her experience. She also volunteered at soup kitchens during the holidays and never missed a chance to send EVERYONE cards, for every occasion througout the entire year.

And if this doesn't impress or inspire you, there is so much more to this woman that, unfortunately, we weren't even aware of - that is, until her death.


Cindy and me 1971

Are you really interested?

So, I've been considering doing this 'blog' thing for a while. I'd come in here, start to type out what's going on in my life and then think, "Would people really care what is going on in MY life? Are they really interested in those deep, deep, almost dear diary thoughts? What the hell am I doing?" This thought was quickly followed by the tap of the 'Delete' button.

Then I lost my sister - suddenly.

At the age of 49-totally unexpected-out of the blue-no preparation-no warning- just 'ring-ring' Hello? Yes, your sister has passed away-knock the breath out of you-room is spinning-tunnel vision, kind-of-sudden.

It's been a little over five months, with STILL no autopsy results, and as much as that sucks and this whole situation sucks, I think I'm doing, okay. I still have bad days and not a day goes by that I don't think about her, or the regrets, or wonder WHY, but on the whole - I'm okay.

So, I'm sitting at the kitchen table last night, flipping through a Christmas catalog, and I come across those ornaments you give people who have lost loved ones throughout the year. You know the kind..."Don't cry that I'm not here, I'm spending my Christmas with Jesus this year." And I sat there and cried, and cried, and cried, but you know what...

I'm okay.

I am okay.

I AM OKAY - At least that's what I keep telling myself.

So, I started thinking this morning that maybe I may need to do this blog. Maybe I can use it as a sort of therapy. Not only that, maybe I can help someone else who's going through this, or we can help each other. And if you've never been through something like this, maybe if you ever find yourself in this situation, God forbid, you can validate the, oh, I don't know, 10,000 emotions you'll go through - daily.

So, I just wanted to announce that I'm finally going to do this (at least I think I am). My question to you is...

Would people really want to know what's going on in MY life? Do they really want to know those deep, deep, almost dear diary thoughts? Or do I just keep hitting the delete button?