I talked to my parents today. I wanted to fill them in on how our visits with my sister went last week.

In talking to them I came to a realization. I realized that in all of my interactions with my sister, I have to cope with the person in front of me, not the one I remember from our past. The sister I grew up with, shared a room with, fought with, traded records with, rode scooters with, shared jokes with -- that sister is gone, and has been gone for many years. Even before she got cancer, she was becoming a stranger to me, choosing to live by her husband's retrograde mores rather than the unconventional ones that shaped us.

It’s sheer obstinacy for anyone in my family to deal with her on any other level. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s about loving kindness now, nothing else. To expect my real sister to come out of hiding is not just frustrating, but total lunacy.

According to my sister’s doctors, at some point in the near future the cancer will flip a switch in her brain, and from one moment to the next she won’t know where she is, possibly who she is or what is happening. She likely won’t recognize anyone or anything.

This terrifying idea rattled my mother awake last week, and kept her up for a few hours until she, too, had an interesting realization: Maybe that switch getting flipped is the best thing that could happen to my sister. Maybe once she’s no longer able to process her situation, she'll be at peace.

I hope that’s the case.