Kelly S. Thompson - Still, I Cannot Save You: A Memoir of Sisterhood, Love, and Letting Go

Mom drummed the steering wheel with her slender fingers as we puttered up Highway 400 from the Toronto airport. She was driving her usual twenty kilometres under the speed limit, which led to a stream of drivers shooting past to give us the finger or shake their fists from rolled down windows.

Its good to have you back, Moo.

Despite the October chill, I leaned into the vent to blast AC on my armpits as I fought off a hot flashanother parting gift from my dying thyroid in the wake of the radiation Id just had.

Theres something depressing about being a twenty-seven-year-old woman who cant feed or look after herself. The words sounded self-pitying even as they left my mouth. Back in Vancouver, I had a two-foot stack of dishes in my sink, five half-eaten jars of peanut butter abandoned on countertops, and a pile of laundry so high that Id stopped wearing underwear. Between the Graves disease and the treatment for it, I could barely scrape myself off the floor to brush my teeth.

Medically, its well documented that stress can bring Graves disease on. Mom, a nurse for thirty years, adopted a particular tone when donning her clinical hat as opposed to her mothering one. It was authoritative and clipped, like Dad giving orders to his army troops during his lifelong military career. Leaving the military wasnt exactly a smooth ride for you.

I didnt leave the military. I was medically released. The distinction felt necessary, and my throat thickened with phlegm. In the wake of my recent health crisis, it was ironic to have been ousted from the Forces after eight years of service for a broken leg that wouldnt heal and not because of the disease that had recently landed me in hospital.

For the previous four months, I had worked at charting a new path, dancing so close to my West Coast writing life dream. I was dating my friend Joe from basic training, had landed a job in book publishing, and was renting a nice apartment that overlooked the mountains, but within weeks of arriving in the city, it was clear I couldnt ignore my symptoms. Extreme weight loss and hunger. A tremor that prevented me from eating soup. A constant, racing pulse. The endocrinologist claimed I had the worst case of Graves disease hed ever seen and arranged radiation, leaving me reliant on medication. My short stint as a civilian was proving to be total bullshit.

Well, theres no one in Vancouver to help you, so coming home was the only real option, no? Mom said, ever the realist. Besides, your father and I dont mind looking after you for a while.

Dont mind.

For a while.

My jaw ached from clenching. I picked at the tinted film on the window of Mom and Dads new Mercedes, which theyd purchased after Id moved. There was something heartbreaking about watching my world continue to function, happily even, despite my removal from it.

Its a good thing you waited until your sister moved in with Bernard, though. It would have been tight in the house with the two of you. It felt pointless to mention that their home had two guest rooms, each with its own bathroom, alongside more than two thousand square feet of furnished suburbia. But it wasnt square footage she was talking about, and it felt pointless to mention that, too. Your sister has been doing so well, Mom continued. A year sober.

I didnt want to talk about Meghan. Didnt want to think about her either. I wanted a tepid bath and then to pull the comforter over my head and disappear into time.

Bernard. I tested the word out loud. Stupid name. It wasnt stupid, particularly, but I felt better for having made the slight. My sister and her boyfriend had been dating only a few months, but he had a reliable job as an electrician and Mom said he seemed nice. But then, she thought everyone was nice.

Dont be rude. Its French.

Does he speak French?

I dont think so. Mom flicked the signal light to ease off the highway to Barrie, causing the truck driver behind us to bleat his horn.

Arent people in addiction recovery meant to stay single until theyre, like, comfortable with themselves? Was I the only one who worried that if this relationship went down the drain, Meghans tenuous hold on sobriety might snap like a guitar string? And was that even my concern to fret about when we were veritable strangers? Wed spoken sporadically during the year that shed lived with Mom and Dad, whenever she picked up one of my calls to my parents, her tone routinely blithe. Wed chat about the benign stuff youd discuss with an acquaintance, like plans for the weekend or if wed seen any good movies lately, but those calls had ended when she moved in with Bernard. I didnt even know her new phone number. While I had hoped that wed return to one another once she was sober, adulthood had made me a realist, and not every story of sisterhood has a tidy ending. Not having a relationship with my sister was familiar and stable, and after life in the Forces, I craved stability.

You cant help when you meet your person, and your sister has met her person. Mom rapped her knuckles on the dash in a way that indicated I was not to take this further. Why dont we stop in to see her at work before we go home?

Not right now, Mom. Im exhausted from the flight. I had set off radiation alarms at the airport, and had sheepishly passed the nuclear medicine form to the security agent while a string of guards waited in the wings and red lights swirled their warnings.