Twice The Love

My twin sister, Karen, had always been strong for me. Could I be strong for her now?

- Kim Krejci, Alpharetta, Georgia

How about some lunch?” I said to my twin sister, Karen. I headed into the kitchen. Pad, pad, pad. Karen was right behind me, as always.

“What can I do?” she asked, looking puzzled.

I cast around for an easy job. “You can spread the mayonnaise,” I said, handing her a jar and a knife. Karen looked at them blankly. I showed her how to dip the knife in the jar and spread the mayonnaise on a slice of bread. With me guiding her hand, she could do it. When I went back to slicing cheese, she stopped and stared at the knife.

I wanted to cry. Karen was 50 years old. For most of those years, she had been my rock and my closest companion. From the time we were kids, knowing each other’s thoughts without speaking, we shared a deep, unbreakable bond. Even after we grew up, got married and weathered the ups and downs of adulthood, we were always there for each another. Karen was my support when my first marriage broke up. My cheerleader when I went back to work after raising kids. My sounding board when I remarried and learned to live in a blended family. She was always there and always would be. Or so I’d thought.

Karen had been diagnosed two years earlier with early-onset Alzheimer’s. This year she and her husband, Lance, had moved from Indiana to Georgia, where our two families bought neighboring houses so I could care for Karen. I’d quit my job as an assistant in a doctor’s office and devoted myself to helping Karen through daily life. Each morning, Lance walked Karen over to my house on his way to work. I was with Karen all day until Lance got home.