Holding That Thought by M. Kathleen (Katy) Williams “Hold that thought” she would say. Would that the thought was you Nancy, so that I could hold that thought for the rest of my life! During the five weeks that we spent together while you so courageously wrestled with the demon that was consuming your physical entity, we managed moments of hilarity, sombre quietness, startling sobriety and clarity of the ‘words unspoken’ between us, yet known all too well. In the song you requested for your Vigil and Funeral Mass, “The Wind Beneath My Wings”, the words, “did you ever know you were my Hero”, echoed constantly in my psyche while we stumbled forward day to day on a path that we never ever dreamed we would have to travel. I am privileged to have accompanied you, at least part of the way, on that journey. When you said in that, oh so Irish way, “I’ll let you get me a glass of ice water, Katy”, or “I’ll let you cover up my feet with that blanket, Katy”, and “I’ll let you get me some cottage cheese”, you were giving me the opportunity to feel good about doing the little things, the Irish things, for you. You were looking after me!!!!! Just like at the hospital when Brian would be wheeling you around in the wheelchair, you constantly were reminding him to make sure I was still following you both. I remember when our ‘roles’ were reversed … you became the ‘big sister’, and you were so very good at it! When I first saw you with your beautiful face enshrined in the shorn hairstyle in preparation for the wrath of the chemotherapy, I was simply amazed that your beauty transcended even that assault on your appearance. You were Amazing Grace! I will never forget the day we traded eyewear and poked fun at each other and the way we looked wearing the ‘identity’ of the other! I will wear your glasses with pride and honour, Nancy and give them back to you again one day! Somewhere during that five weeks amid the trips to the Tom Baker Centre for your varied and various treatments, you began to take on a quiet determination to just do, “One day at a time”. My heart had a lump in it that was choking me and I tried so desperately not to show you the fear in my heart … the same fear you were hiding from us. I will never forget sitting outside the Lab at the Centre, when Brian was off looking for a wheelchair for you, and we sat in almost resigned silence, hand in hand, squeezing and stroking each other, as if to memorize each sensation for eternity! Watching your body struggle with the Herceptin and seeing you plunge into a frightening and sudden state of uncontrollable shaking, that compromised you ability to breath properly, made my senses reel, especially when you walked out of that Clinic not two hours later under your own steam. I shall never forget looking at you as you walked away from that bed, albeit shakily, but true and straight as could be! After each prodding invasive procedure, where your endurance levels must have been exhausted to the limit, you never let on once that it was too hard to bear. When you referenced a conversation that had taken place between us a decade or so ago, regarding my weight and the fact that I could afford to eat the richer foods and instead chose to eat chicken and fish, I shot back at you that I would give you my eyes and you could give me your weight, for I could surely control the weight. You said “no deal”. That day in the bathroom at your condo in Banff when I dropped something on the floor, and you wanted to bend over and retrieve it because you knew instinctively how difficult it would be for me to locate it, I told you to just describe where the article was and I would find it, because for you to have to bend over was such a hardship. Once the article was retrieved, we looked at each other …. I remember I smiled in triumph that I had, with your help, found the item. Then you said the words that will forever ring in my ears and bring tears to my eyes and sting my heart … “I’ll take your eyes now, Katy”! Oh, my poor dear sister, like Christ you were asking for the ‘cup to be taken away from you’, and I could only take you in my arms and hold you feeling the despair of not being able to change these things for you. Brian, you and I, each week went through the ‘chaos’ of cancer and as desperately as we tried to out manoeuvre it, it took on such an aggressive position holding you captive from us. For every weapon you were given and the ensuing strength they each evoked, it was as if a force larger than all of us was determined to take you away. Perhaps it was not so much that you were being taken from us, but rather that your work here was finished, and there was another place you had to be. You often said, you didn’t have time for things, whatever they may have been. Perhaps you instinctively knew that you had to hurry, work hard and accomplish a great deal in a short time because there were bigger and better things waiting for you. Bright shining star! Your light has not gone out. It shines brighter than it ever has, and will help to guide each of us one day. True to your ability to organize and look after things, you, like John the Baptist, have gone ahead to prepare the way for us. It is very hard to even try to contemplate life here without your shining presence, Nancy, but I am secure and ‘at peace’ somewhat knowing that as my brothers said, “nature abhors a vacuum” and in that there is the promise that here and now is just one of many steps we take on our personal journey. It was no accident that you were born … it was no accident that you left your mark on those who knew and loved you the most, and it is no accident that you left the party early. You were always the first one to bed, as I recall. You remain, my darling sister, ever gentle on my mind! Until we meet again, dear Lady and baby sister, I will forever hold you close! I love you always! Your sister, Katy (Kathleen)