The year my sister got cancer, I'd fly out to Chicago on Friday to visit her and come back on Sunday. The routine was simple. I'd cook a spicy taco meal for whoever was there, clean up and hit the sack. The next day, I'd get danishes and drink coffee until she got up. We'd talk and then she'd say she was sleepy. She'd lie down upstairs and I'd curl up on the couch and snooze until she was up again. I never asked for anything. Just slept when she slept. Ate when she ate. Talked when she wanted to talk. It was simple and good. Sunday, I'd go to the airport at 10 am feeling like I'd spent a year at a spa specializing in sleep therapy.
My sister says she never felt closer.
