Sisters
Losing Siblings
This is a companion essay to
by Jim Sayers. We met in our Zoom online Story Summit class. Where else could a California dweller meet an Iowa farmer and find something in common? Having both lost a sibling, we collaborated on writing our essays, describing the special relationships between brothers and sisters and the ensuing grief following their loss.
When we are growing up, parents set the rules and influence us in countless ways. They lead, guide, teach, transport, shelter, feed, provide opportunities, encourage, love. The list is endless, and the world gives them all the credit or the blame when we beam with pride or do something stupid.
One of my parents’ greatest accomplishments was helping us understand the importance of sibling friendships, because siblings are the only ones you can be sure who will stick with you and understand you to the end.
I think siblings shape who we become more than we realize. I’m in the middle of five children - Gay, Rob, me, Helen, and Patrick. When Gay was twelve, and I was seven, she was not happy when I woke her up on Saturday mornings. She would make me stand at her footboard until she fell back asleep, when I could then tiptoe out of her room. I can appreciate this now as a lesson on learning to consider others.
As I matured, I emulated my older sister in every possible way. Except I was a tomboy and she was definitely not. I envied that she could go out at night while I was confined at home.
Gay was artistic, athletic, kind, smart, and beautiful, making her popular with friends. Her favorite music became mine. I picked up phrases she loosely threw around. I laughed at her jokes, then privately asked her to explain them to me.
Although we were enrolled in ballet lessons, she taught me how to dance for school dances. The cool way. She put a rainbow frame on her license plate showing solidarity with the gay community, which she embraced, due to her name. She even ran for student body president using bumper stickers and posters reading “Gay Power”. (This was back in the 60’s!) She won! She anonymously gave hundred-dollar bills to those she knew and saw in need. She was a role model - my role model.
Gay had a dream job at an upscale department store, becoming a multi-department manager, then a buyer, traveling to New York four times per year, and ultimately becoming the assistant to the president of the store. She supervised the stores’ ad campaigns with super models, getting to know each model personally.
She was amazing, and I was always proud of her, bragging about her every accomplishment. I was sad when she moved out, partly because she took her wardrobe with her. She knew that I snuck into her closet to borrow her clothes after she left for work, and didn’t give me too much grief about it. She still handed me down the clothes she discarded.
I shared a room with Helen, four years my junior. We knew everything about each other, and spent much more time together, being close in childhood. I felt fortunate to be in the middle. Because Gay and Helen were nine years apart, they made few childhood memories together.
Through the years, we all showed up for family holidays, called each other occasionally, but grew a bit apart with our busy lives and parenthood.
Alas, I thought it was time for us to get reacquainted, and for Helen to get to know Gay. I planned a Sisters weekend at a cabin in the mountains. We were each to provide one meal and bring up snacks to share. It was surprising and funny as we pulled the food out of the paper bags and put them on the counter. We had triplicates of everything - thin mint cookies, toffee glazed peanuts, salami, string cheese, and sourdough bread. Most were foods we did not usually have at our childhood home, and yet, they were our favorite snacks. It was similar at restaurants, all of us perusing a multi-page menu, and we couldn’t decide between the same two items.
The Sisters weekend started annually, but soon became semi-annual, and often stretched to three days. We shopped together, commenting on styles and tastes, and I picked up fashion tips from both sisters, as Helen worked in textiles. DSW (Designer Shoe Warehouse) was a favorite for us all, but we explored many stores together.
We scrapbooked and laughed while sharing pictures and stories of everything we had missed about our current families. Our worries, our concerns. Sometimes we just listened, shared similar stories, or gave advice.
No judgment. No envy. No harsh words. Ever.
We became more than sisters with shared DNA. We were the best of friends, understanding each other with familial roots that ran deep. We enthusiastically shared a week-long vacation at Bass Lake with our families. Besides a boat breakdown, dubbing the boat “Monstro,” and a trip to the ER from a water ski accident, it was heaven! We enjoyed it so much that we took another vacation together to Sequoia National Park.
When Gay got sick, she chose to be cared for at a nursing home in Encinitas. Helen and I drove down every weekend to spend the day with her. The staff remarked how different our visits were from others.
We had Gay choose pictures for us to print and frame while she napped. We gave her pedicures, massaged her legs, brushed her hair, read poetry, discussed current events; we talked about politics, music, celebrity deaths, family. Our laughter echoed down the dreary hallway. During her afternoon nap, Helen and I would explore the area for dinner, and bring it back to eat with her.
On our final visit, seven weeks after she was admitted there, I could tell it would be the last time we would see her alive, as sepsis was swelling her legs, and although she tried to mask it, she was in pain. She was only 55. Too young to see her son get married or even meet any of the grandchildren from her four kids.
I was arriving home on Saturday from a backyard gathering that I didn’t feel like going to, knowing she was ill, and worried about her throughout that summer evening in 2009. As I was approaching my back door, something swished by me, instantly giving me the impression, “I’m all right!”
Two minutes later, the phone rang and my brother-in-law, Gay’s husband Bob, gave me the news. Gay had passed away. Even knowing this was coming, my world collapsed, and I felt a huge void - someone very large in my life was gone.
My family was very supportive, but my lifeline through the excruciating grief was daily conversations with Helen and Bob. For months, we shared our memories, stories, pain, questions, what ifs…
Then one day, on the way to visit my parents, I stopped at DSW. As I walked around the store, I picked up a shoe and heard her voice, with commentary about the shoe. Not things that I was thinking, but what she would have said. It was so real, I giggled. I picked up several more shoes. More commentary. More giggles. As ridiculous as it seems, this was the beginning of my healing.
My sister wasn’t lost to me forever. She started becoming an embedded part of who I am now when, years ago, on a Saturday morning, I stood at her footboard.
Which sibling most shaped who you are now?
“A sister is a gift to the heart, a friend to the spirit, a golden thread to the meaning of life.”—Isadora James
Although every one of my siblings has brought incredible things into my life—and I appreciate each of them more than words can express—my sister Nikki has had the strongest impact of all. She is not only my closest friend and confidant, but also someone I deeply admire and look up to. She is truly part of my core being, and I am forever amazed by her gift for putting feelings into words. Love you, sis! ❤️
Hailey, this is deep and full of incite. I’m not surprised as I watched them both shape you. 💕💕