My consolations to you and yours.
From the sound of it she was as fine as they come. Thanks for sharing just a bit of her with us, Chefguy. It’s our loss too to have never picked berries next to her, all the while soaking in her wit and wisdom.
Sorry about your loss, Chefguy.
I’m sorry for your loss. Your sister was an amazing person. 
Very sorry for your loss.
The oncologist who accidentally took over her case (he was filling in) reviewed her records and then (astoundingly) told her that the numbers did NOT support the first round of chemo and that essentially they had poisoned her. Angry? You have no idea. They wouldn’t tell me where her office was or even her name, as I was nearly homicidal at that point. Fucking hell. To have lived with this disease for so long and then have one inattentive, uninformed “doctor” take her from her family is beyond tragic. It’s unforgivable and I hope she burns in whatever hell she believes in.
On the good side, the new doc, who my sister referred to as “that cunning Asian man” (:D:rolleyes::smack: ), was attentive to a fault. They were so worried about a lawsuit that he gave her his home and cell numbers with instructions to call any time of day or night. He was visibly tearing up when he came to see her in her last days, and was still trying to prescribe a course of treatment, which she refused. Everyone who interacted with her during this whole process and who came to know her even slightly were taken with her. The infusion staff came to visit her while I was there, and that’s a group of hardened professionals who have seen every horror that nature can infest us with.
Chefguy, it’s about you, but let’s talk about me :). I think God, or whatever, certainly unfalsefiable historical fact, has blessed you with yourself, sister, family, your mind and heart to feel, think, understand and write, your relationship with SD, and fill in the blanks till you get to now.
I know, I think I know, this will continue, despite pain and anger obscuring this or that. Better, they are that also, and fighting them makes them stronger. I wish only for your peace and quiet mind when you can. You’ll stay, and that’s good.
My condolences go out to you and your family.
That’s terrible news. Know it’s not exactly the same, but with my dog that just passed, her current vet misdiagnosed everything all to hell, too. My remaining pup won’t be going there anymore.
My condolences. She certainly was a good fighter!
I’d like to lighten this a bit with a story. I mentioned that our family has a wicked sense of humor, but my sister’s children took it to a new level. They not only have their mother’s benignly humorous outlook on life, but their humor is also affected by the mental abuse they suffered at the hands of their father at a young age. They are both intelligent people and their wit is like a reaper’s scythe: sharp-edged, deadly, and darkly hilarious. Being in a room with them is like seeing the funniest comedic pairing on the planet in a private showing. Since I can feed what they’re doing, it becomes fairly chaotic at times. A half hour on gravy at a pizza place is a fine example, but you would have had to be there.
Anyway. When my sister broke her shoulder for the second time, her son came and got her and transported her to the ER, where his sister was waiting for them. They got her into an examining room, where she was lying on a gurney waiting for the ER doc to show up. They had just gone through the misery of the first broken shoulder, so were joking about how they should just leave her on an ice floe and be done with it.
A nurse came into the room to check on things, and my nephew immediately seized on the opportunity:
Nurse: So how are we doing here?
Nephew: I don’t think she’d want to live like this.
Nurse: Uh. . .what?
Neph (with a sigh and a sad face): I just don’t think she’d want to live like this.
Nurse: But it’s just a broken shoulder. . .she’ll be fine (bright smile).
Neph (in a more ominous tone): I REALLY don’t want her to live like this!
At this point, he looks around the room wildly and asks loudly: “Which of these things do I unplug?!” And starts pulling plugs out of the wall.
Nurse (now in a bit of a panic): She’s not connected to any of that stuff! Please stop it!
My sister is in tears, because she’s laughing so hard that it’s causing her shoulder to spasm. The nurse, of course, is reacting in part to that.
My nephew stops, grabs a pillow, slowly turns to the nurse and says in a sepulchral tone: “You may not want to watch this. . .”
She fled the room. When she got back with a security guard, they were all chatting amiably.
Now you may think that randomly unplugging things is not responsible, but my nephew is on the administrative staff of the hospital and is more than passingly familiar with the equipment. He told this story last week and the place was in helpless tears, including my sister.
On her last day, when she was fading but still somewhat lucid, one of the oncology nurses was in the room to check on her pain med. My nephew said to his mother: “It’s okay to just go, mother. We’ll all understand.” I blurted out: “Yeah, don’t make us use a pillow.” Pandemonium. The nurse, who has heard it all, was momentarily shocked into speechlessness. It was the last time my sister laughed.
Classic! I’m glad you have these kinds of memories! 
That is wicked hilarious.
It’s only the surface, believe me. Those two have very few filters.
I’m sorry for your loss, Chefguy. And that’s a great story.
What a brilliant, lovely description. She sounds like an amazing woman, and you clearly love her very much
I am sorry for your loss.
Best wishes Chefguy to you and your family.
What a lovely tribute to her. I’m so sorry for your loss, Chefguy.
It’s those kinds of memories your awesome sister wanted you to have of her. Condolences to you and a wee bit of envy at having her in your life.