09/24/2021
My little sister, Robyn Barbour, stepped onto Heaven's streets of gold this afternoon. She had been in agonizing pain for more than a month, unable to eat or sleep much.
She was a music and art teacher in Claremore, Oklahoma, teaching out of her studio. She loved kids. She delighted in watching them rise to their potential.
She'd fought off rare, chronic, internal shingles, which may have turned into lupus but ultimately became a metastasizing cancer that evaded doctors' attention -- or else spread very quickly.
I was with her Sunday afternoon. On the phone, she had been getting steadily weaker for a week.
Sunday, her exhaustion was apparent. I did a bunch of handyman projects that she needed -- which pleased her greatly. All single women should have a brother with a hammer and jigsaw.
As was her custom, she discounted my varied medical advice. She listened when I told her that maybe it was time to head to the Mayo Clinic or somesuch to get to the bottom of this.
She wasn't all that taken with the idea of a 15-hour drive, and already had an appointment Wednesday to go in for blood work -- and thought it would be good if I wanted to drive over to take her to the appointment.
As I left, she told me she loved me.
I had a quiet feeling that it might be the last time I would see her. I think she did, too. However, we didn't get dramatic about it. She's always been such a fighter. I told her I'd be back in a couple of days and see if the epoxy on the toilet valve had worked -- or if I'd need to put in a new one. Frankly, I didn't want to think about any possibility other than she'd fight this off, too -- just as she has so many times over the years.
I spent this evening with 163 little Green Forest, Arkansas, soccer players on ten fields whose joy for life was exactly the sort of thing she loved. A couple of days ago, she gave her grand-nephews, my young grandsons, a virtual art lesson -- although she was in obvious misery. Tonight, I know she is out of pain and is thrilled to be strolling around Heaven with our mom and dad -- he always loved being the tour guide.
Robyn was born when I was four.
I only vaguely remember a world without her.