My Sister

My older sister was born on July 29, 1953. She died on January 10, 2017.

In the years between the bookends of her birth and her death, she lived quite a life. In the 70s, she (and friends) traveled to Egypt (when no one else we knew made that journey) because she loved the whole notion of pyramids and Cleopatra and the Nile. She traveled to Hawaii, too, not because she loved the beach and the ocean (she could not swim) but because it was an adventure.

I remember her helping me learn to read. Lessons consisted of her urging me to “sound it out,” immediately before she turned away to read her own book. It was a lesson of persistence (on my part) and of high expectations (on hers).

In my junior year of high school, I came home on the bus—despondent—to find her (as usual) reading a book in our living room.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, as I moped.

“Tonight there are tryouts for the junior class play.”

“You trying out?”

“I want to, but I don’t have a ride back to school.”

“What time?”

“In an hour.”

“I guess you better walk. Better hurry.”

She turned back to her book. I hustled into my shoes and walked/ran to school to try out. I landed the lead that year (shared with my closest friend, Lynn). Again, she taught me a lesson...to be self reliant.

A few years later and I was in college at Kent State University’s Trumbull Campus. The whole family— Dad, Mom, Jackie, our younger sister, and I—were in the kitchen. I opened my letter from KSU; an invoice that I had no money to pay. I remember crying. No way could I pay that bill.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t have the money to pay for my classes at Kent.”

Silence from everyone.

“How much?” Jackie asked.

“$235.” (College was much less expensive those days.)

“Give it to me.” She held out her hand, and I gave her the invoice. “I’ll pay it.”

And she did. The lesson? Generosity.

When I think back over the years of my life, I will always think of Jackie as the person who stood in my corner—no matter what. She (like all of us) had her troubles. Being diagnosed with MS was a big trouble.

Getting breast cancer was another. She loved (and lost)—worked for years in a factory (and had to go on disability)—extended a helping hand to others (when she was able)—adored her only child (and was blessed to meet her baby grandson a few months before she died). But in those times when I needed to confide my own challenges to her, I always, always found a receptive ear. No judgment from Jackie. And the expectation that, no matter what, I had the tools I needed to succeed.

It’s been more than 5 years since she died. It’s strange that I miss her more today than I did right after she died. She had a way of cutting to the heart of any problem with a logical solution. She also was quick to celebrate success (although she celebrated in her own ways and not always in ways that I recognized).

Happy birthday, Jackie. Wherever you landed, I hope there are books.