#lossofasibling

Forever 44 and the Love She Left Behind

/ stella elaine / Leave a comment

I knew this day would come.  It has been a special day in my life since 1976.  I received a special delivery, and my world was forever changed for the better.  I had prayed for that day to come, and it did.  From that day forward I was a big sister.  Today is my sister’s birthday.  She would have been 45.  Never in a million years would I have imagined that we would not grow old together.  We would not take more road trips together. We would not talk or text each other at least once a day.  I think about all the what might have beens, but all I have to hold onto is what we did have and the memories.  Forty-four years of ups, downs, joy, heartbreak, frustration, and boundless love.  We had forged through those times with fierce determination and a healthy sense of humor.   I can’t think of a birthday where we weren’t together or at a minimum spoke on the phone.  If we spoke on the phone, we were making plans as to when we would get together, what we would do to celebrate, and most of all, where we would go eat.  We have so many good memories.  Now, my sister is gone.  She passed away in November of last year.  I did not see the signs this time last year, but now looking back at our daily texts and pictures and recalling our daily conversations, my sister had begun the last leg of her journey. She had put up a tenacious fight, but she was growing weary of her arduous cancer battle.  

The first five years of my life I was an only child, as my sister would be my only sibling.  We were a pair from the time she showed up on the scene, and formed a bond that siblings can only dream of having.  The commonality of our life experience is what made us closer.  There was never jealousy or competition between us. If one of us was happy or sad so was the other.  We had battles ahead of us, and we would face them together.  Our parents divorced when I was almost six and she was about nine months old.  That was the beginning of our life with a mentally ill mother.  Another story or even a book for another time.  My sister and I throughout our life have been surrounded by loving and caring family members, as you will gather in my last blog post, “Granddaughter of the Greatest Generation.” Birthdays were always a happy time with cake, ice cream, gifts, family, and most often friends. 

A life well lived is what my sister had.  She was cute as a button when she was a small child. Our grandmother often called her “Sunshine,” and sing the song “You are My Sunshine” to her.  I’m sure the song was a favorite of my grandmother as it was a popular song during her younger years.  I was never jealous of her being called that because she was our Sunshine.   I, myself, sang it many nights to my boys rocking them to sleep.  My sister would kill me for telling this, but I often teased her about her “Buster Brown” haircut.  It had suited her to a T.  She was the most happy go lucky child.  She was even that way as an adult.  I know she had some down moments, but for the most part she was always positive, and  went with the flow.  We were side by side from the time she was born.  I was her protector.  I think the biggest disagreement we had as children was when I could not watch “The Incredible Hulk” because the Hulk scared her.  She would have bad dreams.  Needless to say, I got over it.  Later on during her countless hospitalizations and times of being homebound, I would be with her, and we would watch Food Network cooking shows.  Here she was, could not eat any real food, and we were watching Bobby Flay throw down in the kitchen.  Lots of irony in this thing we call life. 

My sister met her future husband in their senior year of high school, and they married the December after they graduated.  She hit the ground running with married life. She and her husband worked hard to build a life together.  She had two handsome sons who she doted on, and loved with all her being.  It breaks my heart to know that she will not be here to see her youngest son graduate from high school.  My sister loved children, and cared for her nephews and niece like they were her own.  We always thought it was ironic that she and I had sons, and had only grown up around girls.  Our grandfather, we knew deep down,  had wanted grandsons, but ended up with four grandgirls. He took us four grandgirls in stride, and taught us so much. To this day, I can hammer a nail like it’s nobody’s business.  My sister and I often talked about how proud our granddaddy would have been of our boys.  He had only lived long enough to see my oldest son.  I still remember the proud smile on his face when seeing my son for the first time.   One of my sister’s biggest regrets with her cancer diagnosis was that more than likely she would not live to see her grandchildren.  We had talked so many times about our grandparents, and what they meant to us. They had been excellent role models to us, and we hoped to live up to their example of what grandparents should be.

My sister leaves behind a husband, two sons, our mom, me and my family, her husband’s family, cousins, and a slew of friends.  The love she bestowed on those in her circle was boundless, and even overflowed to her precious fur babies.  I remember she had just been diagnosed with her colon cancer, and someone dropped three kittens off in her front yard.  I told her…”Mendy…now is not the time to take on more animals.”  I know I couldn’t have.  A cancer diagnosis is a large pill to swallow.  During her two plus years of battling cancer she had three dogs and three cats. However, on the days where she was home by herself, her furry companions provided true companionship for her.  Two of her dogs had to be put down during that time, and of all things, one of them had to be put down due to cancer.  Her favorite dog, Oscar (still living) was by her side constantly during her battle.  When the final days were at hand, he was right by her side.  Dogs know.  My husband and I also had to put down our dog of 10 years due to cancer.  To me, it was about too much. Our vet gave us options which were costly and not guaranteed.  I was trying day by day to process my sister’s diagnosis, and the fight for her life that ensued. My sister came first.  My focus was on my sister, but my sister was an animal lover from way back.  I think she was hooked when our cat growing up had kittens in her bedroom closet.  In another life or if given the opportunity in this life, she would have made one heck of a veterinarian.  That’s how life is.  No fairness at times.  You just get up each day, and give it all you’ve got.   You realize no matter what we dream or hope for, your path can go in directions you never imagined.  Some of those paths will be hard.  Very hard.

Not only was my sister tight with her family, she was surrounded by what I would call a posse of girlfriends.  They often got together at each other’s houses to grill out or for lasagne.  They might go out to eat somewhere that featured trivia night.  One of her special friends arranged to have butterflies released at my sister’s graveside during her final rites.  My sister loved butterflies, and it was a loving final gesture of her friend.   She was also loved by her co-workers from the jobs she had held over the years.  They were part of her circle, and they loved her as much as she loved them.  

We none know the timeline of our lives.  I think we all just assume we have forever, and there will always be another tomorrow.  I hate to break it to you, but we don’t have forever, and our lives can change on a dime.  Michael Landon, who played the role of Pa (Charles Ingalls) on Little House on the Prairie, was a favorite of mine.  He was diagnosed years ago at the age of 54 with pancreatic cancer.  He was quoted at the time saying “Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying.  Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day.  Do it! I say.  Whatever you want to do, do it now!  There are only so many tomorrows.”  It’s sad that it takes a terminal diagnosis for any of us to realize the true value of living a purposeful and fulfilling life.  It’s almost like a wake up call.  You better get with it.  The clock is ticking!! Life is unyielding.  There are days when this life will kick you in the teeth, and sometimes repeatedly.  Do your dangdest (disclosure if you haven’t figured it out– I’m Southern) to fill your life with love, happiness, hard work, and determination.  Give it all you’ve got.   I remember losing my grandfather when I was in my 20’s.  It was a devastating loss.  He had played such a consequential role in my life.  My grandmother passed away at the age of 88.  Fourteen years after my grandfather. She too, had a remarkable impact on my life, but I had watched her decline, and her quality of life deteriorate.  She was give out, as people say, and ready to go on to her reward.  I had peace about that.  She had lived a full life, and given all of herself that she had to give. Love, time, patience, and guidance.

Coming to terms with the passing of my sister is a journey.  I was going to say “has been a journey,” but I still struggle day to day knowing that she is not coming back.  Some days are better than others.    There are days when I think..”I need to call my sister.” but knowing I can’t will bring tears to my eyes.  Time does lessen the pain of losing her, but it never completely goes away.  I hold onto the quote from Lord Tennyson’s poem “In Memorium 16.”  “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”  I am beyond grateful for the years I had with my sister.  My life and the lives of so many others are richer because of the time my sister spent on this earth.  She has left a tremendous void, but the love she has left behind will carry us all through.  She will not grow old with me as I just assumed she would.  She is forever 44.

Happy Birthday Sunshine.

I Woke Up Different That Day

/ stella elaine / Leave a comment

I woke up different that day.  I had received a call in the early morning hours, and then cried myself back to sleep.  It was a call I had known for a while that would come.  No matter how prepared you think you are, you will never be ready for that call.  I got up knowing what needed to be done.  I had an hour’s drive ahead of me.  A conversation that would have to take place.  Plans that would need to be made.  I got ready while in a state of shock and disbelief.  I could not wrap my head around what my loved ones and I had been through, and what the next few days would bring for all of us.  All I wanted to do was get back in bed, and pull the covers over my head.  As the lyrics to Ray Price’s song now rang so true …..”Make the world go away.”  

I have always been partial to traveling rural highways as opposed to the ever busy interstate.  The slow and steady pace is more my speed. Slowly driving along to take the countryside in.  Maybe stop at a roadside stand selling farm fresh tomatoes, and buying some boiled peanuts for the road.  Watching the farmers till the land that would put food on our tables.  Looking at all the old farm homesteads.  Beautiful old houses that had been filled with loving and hardworking families so many years ago.  Now just faded memories filled those walls.   My grandfather had been the one to teach me how to drive.  He always put me behind the wheel whether driving on the interstate or on the slower paced back roads.  I didn’t know it at the time, but so many of the things he taught me was to prepare me for a world I would live in when he was gone.  People driving on the interstate are always in such a rush to get where they are going. I was in no rush that day.  I had traveled these roads so many times growing up and as an adult.  I could probably make the trip in my sleep.  I drove along.  Playing all my favorite old country songs.  Merle Haggard…”Going Where the Lonely Go.”  I drove along as if in a time warp.  Time stood still.  The drive I had made so many times seemed to go on forever.  Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I wished it would.  Forever stuck in that moment, and not having to confront what lay ahead.

A little more than halfway to my destination, on the outskirts of a small country town, I spotted the two graves that I always take notice of when traveling this rural road.  So close to the side of this rural highway.  I have often thought to stop, look at the dates and names of the two individuals that are resting there in peace.  At least, I hope in peace.  So near the side of the road.  What were the circumstances of their death?  Did their loved ones feel the immense void at their death that I now felt?  Why were they buried on the side of the road?  Mental note to research how long this rural highway had been in use, and possibly dig up the story behind the demise of these two souls.  I’m curious like that.

I remember being almost to where I was going when I saw the most beautiful field of sunflowers.  It was almost the middle of November, but it did not strike me as odd for sunflowers to be in full bloom that time of year.  Seeing those sunflowers standing tall gave me inspiration that I had been looking for.  My sister had always loved sunflowers.  She would have loved seeing this field full of her favorite flower.

I drove on.  Ever nearing my final destination.  My time on the highway time warp was coming to an end.  I pulled up at my mother’s home.  Got out of my car.  My legs felt like concrete.  It was all I could do to sit down on the sofa.  Trying to figure out how to say what I was there to say.  Of course, my preference is to always be direct and straightforward.  No need to sugar coat the cold hard heartbreaking truth.  I was there to tell my mother that her youngest daughter and my only sister was dead.  I sat there trying to be strong.  Hold it all together.  I wanted to scream my head off.  Punch a hole in the wall.  Raw grief that can only subside with time.  But….I had to hold it together for my mother.  I had to be strong because I was in no shape to deal with her.  For over two years, I had been by my sister’s side as she fought cancer.  I had been filling the gap for our mother while first and foremost being there as her sister. There are people that hit life head on.  Take what life throws at them. Push through the hard times.  People that do the heavy lifting that this world demands, and there are those that rely on those types of people.  Our mother is not one of the heavy lifter types, and I have come to terms with that.  That is a story for another time. I would have been by my sister’s side regardless.  I had watched how cancer, multiple surgeries, numerous hospitalizations, and chemotherapy slowly ate away at her body and strength.  However, cancer never stole her spirit, tenacity, and love of life. My beautiful and full of life baby sister.  

Circling back to the field of sunflowers I saw on the way to my mother’s house.  When I went into my mother’s house, and sat on the sofa, the first thing I really noticed was a ceramic vase with sunflowers on her table.  That was my moment of confirmation.  I had my answer.  My brother-in-law had called me again sometime in the early morning once I was on the road to the town my mother and sister lived in.  He had given me a run down of what we needed to do that day.  One thing he had said was that he wanted my mom and I to pick out the spray for my sister’s casket.  At the moment, I was still numb, and could not even believe that we were having this conversation.  I remember thinking at the time that roses were beautiful, but really would not do justice to the beautiful vibrant woman my sister had been.  Her spray would have sunflowers, day lilies, and  greenery with butterflies inserted.  She loved butterflies and sunflowers.  Ladybugs and day lilies were my favorites.

I had known this day was inevitable. I remember being so angry with my mother when she had called me one day on my lunch break from work a few months before my sister passed to tell me we needed to start thinking about what we would wear to my sister’s funeral. I had had the same thoughts, but never in a million years would I have verbalized them.  To verbalize was to make this nightmare a reality.  An inevitable part of my sister’s cancer journey.  Yet here my mom and I were, my sister barely cold, and we were having to find appropriate clothes because that’s just what you do.  Thankfully, most funerals are not as formal as they once were.  Men in full suits.  Ladies in black dresses and black shoes with stockings.  My sister and I were never ones to wear dresses.  You will be hard to find many pictures with us wearing dresses as grown women.  Now…the two of us as little girls with a grandmother that loved to dress us up is another story.  Eventually, my mother and I found outfits that we were satisfied with.  I knew the next day would involve taking my husband and our two sons shopping.  I would make sure they would be dressed to make  my sister proud.  They would end up wearing khakis, white dress shirts, and matching purple ties.  I wore a purple blouse.  Purple was one of my sister’s favorite colors.  Until that afternoon at the funeral home, I had not even thought about what my sister would wear.  Thankfully, one of her friends had picked out an outfit that was perfect.  My brain was on auto-pilot, but yet in a fog.  I know my sister’s husband and sons were the same way.  To have people step in, and help means the world. 

My brother-in-law called me when their preacher stopped by the house to discuss Mendy’s funeral.  He wanted to speak to her family.  To hear our memories.  To make my sister real at her funeral.  To tell of the love she had for her family, friends, and fur babies.  We all stood in the kitchen.  Some seated. I was standing.  Trying to hold it together.  That preacher did not have enough time for me to tell him of the memories I had of my sister.  Forty-four years as my baby sister.  How do you condense that down to a few words that would ever do justice to her?  How I, as a five year old,  playing on our front porch with all my Little Golden Books spread out on the porch (my love of books started at a very early age), and I remember praying to God.  “Please send me a little sister.”  And..he did.  She would be my only sibling.  Would this preacher be able to comprehend the bond that my sister and I had?   We had been through so many trying times together.  So many shared experiences and memories.  We were different, but yet so much alike.  Would this preacher be able to convey what a wonderful wife, mother, sister, daughter, aunt, and  friend she was?  He would be able to say in all honesty that my sister had left a legacy of love.  

We all somehow made it through visitation.  Now the funeral.  I got up that morning.  Ironed the clothes that me and my guys (my husband and sons) would wear.  I had been so busy the past few days.  Just doing what had to be done.  I remember feeling like I had been hit by a ton of bricks.  I was in the kitchen, and had a picture of my sister, mom, and I in my hand.  I told my husband that I needed to take some pictures with me to the funeral.  I don’t know if I thought I would display them or what.  I felt the tenuous binds holding me together coming undone.  I remember breaking down.  Screaming that my sister was gone.  How could this have happened?!  My little sister was gone.  No more daily phone calls.  Talking about our boys.  She also has two sons. She was going to miss her youngest son’s high school graduation.  She would miss seeing grandbabies.  She loved children. Talking about our husbands.  Sharing the latest shenanigans that our mother was up to.  Planning a road trip that we would take when she was well.  We had always been in the same book, same chapter, and in the same sentence.   All of it was gone.  I pulled myself together.  As I have always done.  I needed to be strong for our mom, my guys, and  Mendy’s guys.

Mendy’s funeral was beautiful.  The flowers, her in her casket with the beautiful spray, and the video which showed the life she had built with love and happiness.  Family and friends gathered to say one final goodbye to her.  Butterflies, another favorite of hers, were released at her graveside service.  

The road of life we all travel has many hills, valleys, curves, and rough patches.  Sometimes the road can have a pure blow out.  There can be the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.  Along the way, if we’re lucky we also experience immense love.  The part of my life’s journey that had me walking with my sister during her cancer battle brought sadness, desperation, frustration, fear, hope, denial, acceptance, and ultimately a truer understanding of how fleeting life can be. You’ve got to love hard because in the end love is all you have.

I woke up contrary to any way I had ever known the day my sister died. My vision of the world had been dimmed, and only time would slowly bring color back into my world.  Robert Frost’s poem “Nothing Gold Can Stay” truly speaks to me.  My sister was solid gold.