Previously:  Having learned from her son that my sister has terminal cancer, I recount events that severed the bond between us and made her resent Mother. Fortunately, she reconnects with family, but she's not interested in a phone call relationship even though we are two thousand miles apart. Ten years before Barb gets her diagnosis, Mother passes away. My sister flies in for the funeral, but recent events have turned her against me again. Since she won't give her phone number or e-mail, I only see her when she visits Bobby three times a year.

Chapter 68 ends:

When Bobby told me about her death sentence, I cried, but only for ten minutes. How do you mourn someone you don’t know anymore?  Well-meaning friends would offer condolences, and I felt guilty because it wasn’t that big a loss to me.

At least, I didn’t think so until we met for the last time.

 
Barbara flew down a month later. I decided to turn our final farewell into a belated birthday party with nothing but cake. Years ago, my sister had not only turned vegetarian (like my daughter) but denied herself sweets in the interest of good health. Too late now. A verdict of death meant time to indulge.

I ordered a four-layer round chocolate cake with raspberry filling, dark chocolate frosting and sculpted sugar flowers and leaves. Scrawled over the top would be: “Happy Birthday, Barby”, the name I called her until it no longer seemed to fit.

Next, I wanted to give her some presents. What do you give someone who has four months to live? The return of a favorite toy, of course.

As a child, my sister loved dolls. Although I preferred a book or a game, Mom insisted on giving each of us a doll every Christmas until we reached the disinterested age. Throughout all my moves after marriage, I saved two of my favorites and one of Barbara’s since she didn't care.  I thought Marilynn was just too pretty to throw away, the same with tall dark-haired Rosemary and her smaller companion, Honey.  Unfortunately, in time, the rubber bands that attached Rosemary’s arms and legs to her torso broke. She looked like the victim of a serial killer except for her still lovely unmarred porcelain face. Honey fared better. She stayed intact except her left eyelid had slipped out of sight and her wig of gold curls refused to be glued.

Barb’s best doll, Marilyn, ironically stayed in perfect shape. I washed and ironed the plaid taffeta gown Mother had sewn and wrapped her porcelain body in tissue paper inside a decorated shoe box. The time had come to reunite the two.  

One present does not make a party. I thought next of the stuffed panda Barby took to bed every night for three years.  She lost the beloved bear at the movie theatre (she took him everywhere). Dad went back after the children’s matinee and scoured the empty aisles. When he arrived home empty-handed, Barb couldn’t stop crying. The guilt about losing her sleep mate tormented her for weeks

With that memory in mind, I dragged Frank to Walmart. Their pandas were too big, but I didn’t want to try a dozen stores. I purchased the stuffed animal and more tissue paper to disguise the surprise. “That should be enough,” Frank said and edged me out of the store.

“Not yet,” I said, stepping into the car. “Stop at the Dollar Store next.”

Frank was skeptical when I scoured the party section and purchased noisemakers, balloons, silly hats including a gold paper crown with QUEEN printed in silver sparkles across the pink band.

“She won’t wear that,” spoilsport hubby protested. “You’re wasting money.”

“She’ll love it,” I argued. “What’s more, I’m going to buy a coloring book, crayons, and some game books from the children’s rack.” 

He grumbled as I thumbed through large soft-covered books filled with mazes, word searches, connect the dots, and other fun learning challenges for young boys and girls.

“Are you finished? I’m getting hungry. Pick out two and let’s go,” Frank snapped.

Boy, I thought, has he ever lost his inner child.

“Okay, okay!” I dropped my choices in the plastic yellow basket and headed for the check-out counter, my eyes still searching for fun gifts. “Wait!” I cried and stopped short as I spotted something. “Would you believe this?” I grabbed a small panda bear, one of several bunched together on a low shelf.  

“Cute,” Frank admitted, “but you already bought one.”

“This can be the baby.”  I grinned. “And he is more the size of the one Barby lost.” I hugged the bear and added it to the basket.

Pleased with my purchases, we piled everything into the car. Five days later, we headed to Tampa, the fancy twenty-two dollar chocolate cake resting on my lap.  It never occurred to me that my sister might not have much appetite or be able to taste anything.

To be continued.