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The three of us were doingburpees.
Photo: Natalia Longi
Like many sisters, we had our ups and downs, our rivalries and resentments.
Over the decades, we circled each other, vied for attention, gossiped about each other.
We also sent birthday presents and celebrated holidays.
We got under each others skins one minute and made each other pee our pants laughing the next.
We drew close when our dad was dying, put aside petty grievances and made difficult decisions together.
And again when our mom died.
Only the worst was yet to come.
All those dreams ended in minutes.
Ruby died on impact, Hart a short while later.
Their bodies were badly bruised from the accident.
Gail had shards of glass in her tongue.
They were traumatized, uncertain how they could get through an hour let alone a day.
Their synagogue had already set up a food chain.
People couldnt sign up fast enough.
Their rabbi had breakfast with them once a week after the morning prayers.
Hundreds attended the funeral.
Condolence notes poured in, books about grief arrived, grief groups were suggested, therapists made themselves available.
For me, the what-ifs clustered around getting the middle-of-the-night call.
The first person I called after I heard the news was my older sister.
We considered her bossy, even a control freak at times.
I was the classic middle: troubled, attention-seeking, thoughtless.
And Gail, 10 years our junior, was the beloved, golden-haired baby.
Nowhere were Ninas qualities more needed than in those hours following the phone call.
She is the sister you want in your foxhole.
We folded laundry, shopped for groceries, cooked meals.
Only now, wed fixate on things that upset us.
Namely when people said things like the kids were in a better place.
A few people mentioned psychics who could channel Ruby and Hart from the beyond.
She knew something about survival.
The last time we had all been together was when my mother was dying.
I can still see Ruby and Hart anxiously entering her room.
She patted the bed and Hart perched at first, then lay in bed next to his grandma.
At the funeral, Ruby spoke of all the wonderful times they had together.
These kids were deeply connected to their grandmother; her generosity and interest in their lives was legend.
Seven months after the kids were killed, Covid curtailed our traveling to LA.
Nina and I reported back to each other after every call we had with Gail.
If she didnt pick up our calls for more than a day, we would panic.
Sometimes Gail texted and said she was too exhausted to talk.
Wed phone each other then, too, and worry together.
I want eyes on her, Nina said.
We need eyes on her.
Thats when I thought of it.
Gail had been having an understandably hard time getting out of bed.
She said she sometimes spent hours doom scrolling.
The term took on a gallows humor without the humor.
I suggested we work out together over Facetime.
Most of all, we had eyes on her, our baby sister.
I wish I could say that five years later our grief has dissipated, that time has healed.
I wish I could tell you that we never again gossiped, complained, or undercut each other.
I wish I could say that nothing we ever did again pissed the other off.
What I can tell you, all I can tell you, is that we were there.
Betsy Lerner is the author ofShred Sisters,out today.
