The three of us were doing burpees. It wasn’t pretty, but there we were: three sisters, heading to our temporary home gym during the peak of the pandemic. Every morning, we watch our favorite YouTube trainer, FaceTime and do squats. Like many sisters, our lives have had their ups and downs, rivalries and resentments. We’ve been hanging out for decades, competing for attention and gossiping with each other. We’ve even exchanged birthday gifts and celebrated holidays together. One moment we were getting along well and the next we were rolling on the floor laughing. As our father was dying, we grew closer, letting go of petty grievances and making tough decisions together. And then when our mother died. I’ve always thought this is the most important thing: In our toughest moments, we rely on each other. The worst is yet to come.
In June 2019, my teenage niece and nephew, Ruby and Hart Campbell, were killed by a drunk driver traveling at 90 mph near the desert town of Joshua Tree, 133 miles east of Los Angeles. With their parents, they visited the vacation home they hope to build in one of their favorite places on earth. Ruby and Hart loved rock climbing in Joshua Tree State Park, and my sister Gail and brother-in-law Colin loved the surreal scenery and the stunning peace away from the busy life of Los Angeles. All of these dreams were over in a matter of minutes. Ruby died on impact, and Hart died shortly after.
After shiva week, Gail and Colin invited me and my sister to stay with them in Los Angeles. They had suffered severe injuries in the accident. Gail had glass fragments in her tongue. They were in shock and didn’t know how to spend an hour, let alone a day. Their synagogue set up a food chain. People couldn’t sign up fast enough. Their rabbi joined them for breakfast after morning prayer every week. Everyone in the community, her friends and co-workers, my niece and nephew’s friends, were there for her. Hundreds of people attended the funeral. Messages of condolence came pouring in, books about grief came out, grief groups were suggested, and therapists came forward to help. Ruby has OCD, and her wonderful doctor helped us deal with the recurring thoughts: what if they hadn’t come home, what if the test had been on a different day, what if a drunk driver had taken a different route. – Or even better, what if someone stopped him from driving? For me, all I could think about was a hypothetical phone call in the middle of the night. Rationally, I knew that not answering the phone would change anything, but in that moment there was nothing rational about it.
The first thing I did after hearing the news was call my sister. Nina followed in her mother’s footsteps even more than Gail and I did – marrying and having children, giving up her career to raise them. We thought she was arrogant and sometimes controlling. I’m somewhere in between: annoying, attention-seeking, indecisive. Gail was 10 years younger than us and a cute blonde. Within hours of receiving the call, Nina’s qualities were felt most needed. While I could barely speak or pack, Nina found the quickest way for us to get to Los Angeles. She’s the kind of sister you want to have in your home.
After the funeral, we took turns staying with Gail and Colin in their basement apartment, surrounded by pictures of the kids and listening to them cry at night. We did laundry, shopped for groceries, and cooked meals. We walked around the Silver Lake Reservoir, developing scripts and complaining about our jobs, friends, and weight. Now we focus only on what’s bothering us. Especially when people say the kids are “in a better place.” A few people mentioned that a psychologist could bring Ruby and Hart through to the other side. During one of these walks I coined the term “hate du jour” for all people who say the wrong thing or keep their distance.
Rationally, my sisters and I understand that people sometimes say or do things that hurt us because they are hurt by our loss – not just Hart and Ruby, but us too. Their mother had died two months before the incident. Many people said her passing was a blessing and that they didn’t have to go through the grief of losing a grandchild. But they don’t know how much we need her, how much Gail needs her, and many don’t know that she also lost a child, a two-year-old girl named Barbara, to pneumonia. Learn something about survival.
The last time we were together was when my mother died. I can still see Ruby and Hart coming anxiously into her room. Ruby knelt down beside her bed while Hart kept his distance. It was scary to see my beloved grandmother, who always looked immaculate, now with tangled hair, blotchy skin, uneven breathing and a hoarse voice. She patted the bed, and Hart first sat up, then lay down on the bed next to his grandmother. At the funeral, Ruby told us about all the good times they had spent together. These kids have a great love for their grandmother. Her generosity and interest in life were legendary. When Ruby announced at our Passover Seder that she was gay, my mother’s first reaction was, “So what!”
Seven months after the babies died, COVID-19 restricted our travel to Los Angeles. Nina and I would report to each other after each call with Gail. We would tell each other: how she sounded, what she said, who did something well. If she didn’t answer our calls for more than a day, we would panic. Sometimes Gail would message that she was too tired to talk. Then we would even call each other and worry together. “I want to see her,” Nina said. ‘We need to focus on her.’ That’s when it occurred to me. Apparently Gail has difficulty getting out of bed. She said she sometimes spends hours wasting away. The word carries a sense of humorless gallows humor. She complained that there wasn’t enough exercise, and then asked: Who cares about exercise when a baby died? I suggested we exercise together via FaceTime. Over the next weeks and months of the pandemic, the three of us began grunting, squatting, and lifting things together. After workouts, we joke about all the usual things: our sore muscles, our plans for the day, who earned the “Hate of the Day” tag and why.
When vaccinations roll out and we no longer need to quarantine, our morning workouts take a backseat to all the daily demands of work and life. But over the past few months of jumping jacks and modified burpees, our relationship has strengthened in a different way than ever before. Despite our petty grievances and rivalries that sometimes threaten or obscure our connection, despite our different parenting styles and life choices, we are there for each other every morning. The three sisters, who live in New Haven, Boston, and Los Angeles, worked together to find a way forward. Most importantly, we kept our eyes on her, our little sister.
I wish I could say that after five years our hurt has faded and time has healed. I wish I could tell you that we never gossiped, complained, or put each other down. I wish I could say we never did anything to upset each other again. Most importantly, I wish I could tell you that five years later, Ruby graduated from college and Hart, a budding actor, starred in her high school graduation play. That’s all I can tell you, all I can tell you is that we’ve been there.
Betsy Lerner is the author of “Shred Sisters,” published today.
