Apodaca: Sister’s health would be best present
There’s a story I heard countless times when I was growing up about a girl with two younger brothers who prayed for a baby sister.
One day her parents returned from the hospital with a bundle, which her father then handed to her.
“Here,” he said. “You wanted her. You take care of her.”
That newborn was me, and the girl, to whom I more or less owe my existence, was my big sister, Felice. (That’s right, we rhyme).
To say that Felice took her big-sister duties seriously would be a gross understatement.
When I was 5 and I wrote to Santa that more than anything in the world I wanted a giant stuffed blue poodle, she was the one who made sure I got it. I awoke Christmas morning to see Felice holding Cherie — as we later decided to name my extravagant stuffed creature — and ready to snap a picture of me, eyes wide and mouth a perfect “O” of surprise.
Two years later, Felice told me that Santa didn’t exist. I cried and cried, but she was firm, saying she had tried to tell me the year before but I wouldn’t listen. Now, she said, it was time for me to face reality.
Those two Christmas memories pretty much sum up my big sis: at times warm and nurturing, and at others stern and pragmatic.
Early on she set the bar high for her younger siblings with a sterling academic record, and when she left home for college I cried again. Ferociously organized, Felice put herself through graduate school while working full-time, bought a house on her own, and landed an accounting job at a major Hollywood studio.
There have been times when we’ve driven each other nuts — as family members do. She is efficient and businesslike, and I am unfocused, insecure and idealistic. She freely shared her disapproval of some of my choices, while I have at times bristled at her bossiness.
But her biggest lesson to me is the one that stuck: Family stays together, no matter what. Throughout my life, the one unshakable constant has been the knowledge that if I ever needed help, Felice would be there.
Now she is sick. Again. And I struggle to figure out how to be there for her.
About 30 years ago, Felice beat a cancer that nearly killed her, though some of us mused at the time that the cancer didn’t stand a chance against her iron will. Not long into her remission, she stood next to me at my wedding, a beaming vision in pink.
But the aggressive cancer treatment had left her with scarring and organ damage. It also led to the discovery of some internal defects that she apparently was born with. Over the years, she has had to deal repeatedly with the consequences of those health issues, and she has done so with her customary matter-of-factness. She just did what she had to do to, without complaint or self-pity.
Along the way she fell in love, and that’s a story worthy of a Hallmark movie.
While undergoing cancer treatment, Felice befriended a lovely fellow patient who sadly relapsed and eventually died. A few years later, her friendship with the woman’s widower blossomed into romance. At their wedding, it was my turn to stand by her.
In many ways, they’re an unlikely pair. Jack is much older than Felice, though he has the energy of a 20-year-old. He’s a gentlemanly, buttoned-down British transplant and former aerospace engineer who enjoys nothing better than tinkering on engines. When they married, Felice quit her studio job and moved to the high desert to help Jack fulfill his dream of running a small airport.
For many years, they have happily toiled away at that dream, Jack flying, building and repairing, while Felice utilizes her business and accounting skills. They host an annual event billed as “The World’s Smallest Air Show,” and if that wasn’t enough, they also run a thriving farm next to the hangars and landing strip.
But Felice’s health issues, always in the background, have moved front and center again. For the past several months, she has been in and out of the hospital and undergone surgery so many times I’ve lost track. Occasionally, her ordeal has driven her to uncharacteristic despair, but then she pulls herself back and soldiers on. Through it all, Jack has been a model of devotion, rarely leaving Felice’s side and facing each challenge with humor and dignity.
“You’re the toughest chick I know,” I tease Felice.
Sometimes I don’t know what else to say, but she doesn’t care. Just hearing my voice helps, she says.
This Christmas, I don’t want for much. Through all my bobbing and weaving through life, I’ve somehow been fortunate beyond measure. I have a lovely home, my own devoted husband, two amazing sons and many wonderful friends.
Is it too much to ask for my sister to have a healthy body to match her resilient spirit? Absent that, I just wish for her to keep fighting, to persevere as she always has, and to continue reveling in those small, simple pleasures she prizes.
She wanted me. She took care of me. Now the little sister she prayed for so long ago still needs her.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
PATRICE APODACA is a former Newport-Mesa public school parent and former Los Angeles Times staff writer. She lives in Newport Beach.
