My sister is three years older than me. When we were young those three years were enough to put me under as she routinely clobbered me. Then the day came when it was no longer fruitful for her to beat me to a pulp. And she knew it.
Our youth was spent in Sherman Oaks where we grew up. She was involved in fashion, boys, and gossip. I was only concerned about baseball. So our paths rarely crossed except for dinner.
As a teenager she was a rebel, experimenting with drugs. She loved to listen to such artists as Jethro Tull, Crosby Stills and Nash and Jimi Hendrix, just to name a few. At 16 she was arrested for narcotics. My parents were shell shocked. One night while eating dinner my mom gave her the third degree and she ran out of the house screaming I “hate this family.” My dad simply said “go get her” so I did.
At 18 she left for Europe where she spent two years traveling the continent. After that adventure she returned home with a Scottish boyfriend. A few months later she and the boyfriend relocated to San Francisco where she spent six years. She was a waitress for most of that time and he worked odd jobs. When the relationship ended she was off to Asia. She focused on places like Sri Lanka, Cambodia, Thailand, Laos, and Bali just to name a few.
I met her in Bali in 1984. She showed me the island, I was awestruck. I had never seen a place like this. The Balinese culture and lifestyle fascinated me. Balinese handicrafts and jewelry were everywhere. I took home a few samples of jewelry when I returned. Immediately the jewelry started selling and as a result we started an import business called Asian Arts. The business reconnected Cheri and me, spending more time together whether in Bali or on the phone. We both shared a love for travel and adventure.
For six years we imported jewelry from Bali and sold it wholesale to retail. The work was challenging and at the same time fascinating. But like they say all good things must come to an end and we moved on.
By then she had met Agostino, an Italian traveling in Bali. They married in the late ’80s and she moved to Italy permanently. Agostino was an antique dealer of Asian arts. They would sell their wares in Italy, traveling from market to market. For years this was their lifestyle. My sister would help Augostino traveling with him to such places as Venice, Milan, and so on.
In the early 2000s Cheri wrote a book, Messages from St Francis. Cheri states that when you channel, the information comes through you not from you. This makes a difference in the writing process. To channel all you need is trust that you truly are being contacted by a wise soul that’s not in a physical body. That and the ability to listen with intense concentration to what’s being said so that you can record it as clearly as possible. She sold some copies of the book and continued to channel St Francis.
Cheri’s life was unique and full of adventure. She and Agostino would spend the winters in India to get away from the cold in Italy. It was a routine that they enjoyed for years.
This last January while in India she felt faint and went to the doctor to get checked. The news was shocking. She had a brain tumor. Within a few weeks she was operated on in India. After the surgery her prognosis was day by day. The cancer was aggressive stage 4. The surgeon was able to remove 80 percent of the tumor. But within days she had complications with constipation. She needed a second operation and suffered a stroke, the right side of her body becoming paralyzed.
After weeks of being in the hospital she was able to return home to Italy.
In mid June I left for Italy and spent two weeks with her. My nephew Josh also met me there, flying from Vancouver where he lives. Most of her days are spent in a wheel chair, on the couch or at doctors appointments. Funny how life can turn on a dime. While at her house I spent many nights crying myself to sleep. Trying to grasp the reality of the situation. Agostino and I discuss her condition. at times disagreeing. He and I never really clicked. But it’s okay. What matters is he is my sister’s husband. Sometimes Cheri will ask me if I think she will be able to walk again. With time I tell her.
I hope one day in the future when she and I are on our distant journeys all this will make sense. But thats for another time. Now my main concern is that she is comfortable. I continue to call her every morning, telling her no matter what, you’ll be fine.
The last day when I left her house she started to cry. I gently touched her leg and told her to hang in there. She nooded and took a hold of my hand. I knew this would probably be the last time I would see her. One day we will meet up again and hug each other looking back on this as a dream and nothing more.
