Baby sister

I called my sister Easter Sunday, with hesitation but resolve. She has been tolerant of me these past few weeks, but I always feel she doesn't really want to talk and that I'm bothering her. Still, I persist. She is my sister and I promised her I would be here for her. A couple of weeks ago she expressed a great deal of anger about our past. She's suffered so much. I can't just give up on her, so I called once again. Maybe her husband would answer the phone and I would find out how she was doing that way. Maybe I could convince him to let me come down and take care of her. Instead, she answered.

She was making jello for Easter dinner. Sitting down on the couch. She can't get around much anymore. Amazingly, she was cheerful and glad I called. This time we didn't talk of serious issues, just our families, our plans for the day. Her husband and son were out buying a new toilet seat. We laughed about that. We laughed about many things that afternoon. My sister has a great sense of humor and even in her illness her laugh was honest and uninhibited. We talked about an hour and my guests started arriving for dinner. I left them to Fred, not wanting to hang up. She didn't want to stop talking either but finally I realized I'd forgotten to put my ham in the oven and said I had to go. I told her I loved her and hoped she had a nice dinner with her family. It was our last conversation. I thank God for giving me that gift.

My dear, precious baby sister left this earth last night. Even though I haven't seen her for years, I have a gaping hole in my heart. I found her again at Christmas, only to lose her forever. She was the keeper of our memories. She told me she remembers everything and we talked of so many things these last couple of months. But she'll never again remind me of hilarious stories of our childhood. I'll never hear her laugh again.

My sister's isolated little family of three has become only two. Her 22-year-old son could hardly speak in his grief. Her husband I hardly know graciously let me into their private world. Between sobs of despair he gave me a detailed account of her last days and then shared funny anecdotes from their long marriage. Precious stories of the adult sister I never really understood until now.

I can't imagine how my mother can bear to lose her child. I wish we were together so I could hold her and cry with her. I need my siblings now to process these emotions. But there will be no funeral. My sister requested that. It was her wish to keep us all at bay and not let us share in her pain. We did as she asked.

After the news of my sister's death, I went to check on my daughters before I went to bed. I kissed my little Liana and then knelt by her bed weeping. Baby sister. Liana is the baby sister of this big clan. She is so loved, cherished, doted upon. My own baby sister didn't have that kind of love. How might her life have been different? Instead she bore the brunt of an alcoholic father's rage. Through our past few conversations I realized how this overshadowed her entire life and stole her joy. She was surprised one time when I told her how much Fred adores his girls. She never knew a father's love. Neither did I, but I see it in my own husband and I see how my daughters bloom and flourish in it.

I hope that my sister now knows an even greater love and that she is in the arms of Jesus.