We were at Tinello in Pioneer Square with good friends from the neighborhood yucking it up at a pre-celebration of Leslie’s birthday on a Friday night when Leslie got a call. She doesn’t usually answer the phone, any phone, especially during a good yuck-it-up session. But she did. Answered it. Stood straight up. Left the restaurant. Said these words when she returned: sister, aneurism, Calgary. I put down my glass of wine and rolled out with her, following her quick pace to our condo, close by. She made a series of follow-up calls to cut through her own cognitive dissonance. What was happening to her sister, Elizabeth? What had happened? She couldn’t get through to the hospital switch board. Then she did, but they had no record. Finally she reached a doctor. Abdominal aortic aneurism. Burst. In the ambulance. Could be DOA. Did she have a living will? Going into surgery. Could take three hours. The hardest call, as you can imagine, was to her sweet parents. So distressing. So hard to feel that you can’t do anything in the face of crisis and illness and potential tragedy.

But you can. You can be there. Really there. In the moment. Absorbing. Reacting. Problem solving. And she was.

How  could we get Leslie to Calgary? And pronto. I tried Alaska Airlines while she negotiated with private charters, not for any reasonable amount. There was no good, quick way to make the trip that night. So we packed and tried to get updated answers from the hospital. She made tough calls to family members and friends, explaining in her strong, steady voice what had happened. That she would go for the family and be the advocate, the emissary, the bad ass. Whatever the situation required. She would be part of a chain of miraculous hand offs, from the friend who took Elizabeth to the ER to the young ER doc who quickly assessed the situation and then jumped into an ambulance with her to get her to the surgical team. Mind boggling. But her sisters had a plan for coordinating care.

I knew, first hand, the balm that Leslie brings, a special blend of fierce intellect and soft touch and iron will. I had no doubt that she was the woman for the job. But I wasn’t sure she had adequately packed for weather that would reach -27 degrees Celsius. So I threw in some wooly scarves, hoping they would help. And I tucked a picture of Gus and some dog treats into her cosmetic bag, as I find these items comforting when I travel. I also added some pointers on driving in the snow. Those fell on deaf ears.

This story ends well. Very well. Though I know less of the details. Mostly through short texts, quick calls, and somewhat cryptic posts on Facebook. I knew Elizabeth was surrounded by love. She spent days and days and days in the Intensive Care Unit. And, by all accounts, Elizabeth fought her way back in record speed. I knew Leslie was supported by love. She was staying with her first friend, Angelika, buddies since diapers, but on divergent paths, until then. I knew that Leslie was handling the details, closely monitoring, protecting her big sister with all the strength of her huge, responsive heart and small, wiry frame. I know that no one was alone in the process. The team of health professionals were attentive and vigilant. The concentric circles of Elizabeth’s friends were notified and mobilized. We all waited. Baited breath. For the call. Elizabeth opened her eyes. Blinked her baby blues. After hours of singing and hand-holding and foot-rubbing and pacing and prayers and prodding and poking and assessments. She came back. Up from the Valley of Death. Back into the Land of the Living. And, oh, how sweet that moment. And, oh, how grateful we are. For this miracle. Of dear Elizabeth. Returned to us. Recovering. Soon ready to have her best phase yet. Leslie passed the baton to sister Melissa for more healing, more love and tenderness. And Melissa to sister Jocelyn, the diplomat, the peace-maker. Each playing a unique and special role. Not that others didn’t play crucial roles. But these four sisters. They rediscovered the circle of siblings.

I can’t wait to see what she’ll do. I can’t wait to see what they’ll all do. These sisters. These glorious sisters.