“The week you got brain surgery was the best week of my life.”
My sister Grace told me this on New Year’s Day, as we were recounting our past few years with crass sarcasm while watching some completely un-memorable rom-com.
Hearing this, I was a little weirded out. Objectively, without going into loads of gory-physical-and-emotional detail, my week in the hospital (June 3-10 of 2020) and the months thereafter were not good. Though Grace’s initial statement was a little off-putting, I wasn’t offended; she has a certain impulsivity to the things she says. Even though she is my best friend, I don’t often expect verbal warmth from her, and oddities like this are common. She’s blunt and enigmatic: refreshing but sometimes terrifying traits in my 12-year-old visual carbon copy.
I don’t really remember how I responded to her, probably with a string of expletives or a playful shove, but the encounter stuck with me. How could something that was so traumatic for me be even remotely good for one of the people who I love most in the world?
We eventually talked about it. I don’t remember when or how I asked for an explanation of why she said what she said, but what I do remember is how she justified “Brain Week” being her personal oasis.
“Ever since you got diagnosed [In January 2020], people kept getting on me about how I felt about you being sick,” Grace said. “Everyone I know just asked about you, non-stop. Asking me questions about you that I didn’t know the answer to. Mom kept asking how I felt, and why I didn’t want to talk about my feelings. People finally left me alone when you were in the hospital. I wasn’t allowed to visit. I could finally be alone. Plus, Mom wasn’t home so I could watch all the TV I wanted.”
From there, I got it. In our family, I’m the talker and Grace just isn’t. It makes sense that being the de-facto 12-year-old spokeswoman for my unheard-of, incurable cerebrospinal disorder (or in her words, “Walker’s brain is too long or something”) would be Grace’s personal hell. She isn’t built for that kind of stuff, and frankly, no one is. I’m glad she got her well-deserved break.
This cemented that my condition (that I really don’t like talking about in a non-joking manner, yet am doing right now) was different from anything Grace and I had dealt with before. Dealing with adult concepts wasn’t new to her, but dealing with one that concerned me made me aware of the unique nature of our relationship.
Grace and I spend a majority of our waking time together: a lot of it silent, and a lot filled with laughter. During conflict, she shuts down and takes things in, while I exude nervous streams of words. Throughout this past year, her importance in my life has never been more clear to me despite our differences. She counteracts my life’s calamities, health concerns and mundane issues, with a constant stream of standoffish remarks and awkwardness, teaching me that silence is often good.
