Marie at 1 Write Way

Thinking of My Sister on Her Birthday

Today–August 2–is my sister Shirley’s 77th birthday. If she were still with us.

I wrote this micro memoir a few months ago.

Sister

It wasn’t that hot, not that day. But a line of white crusted her open mouth, and the white hair capping her head was damp with sweat. She leaned sideways as if she would fall out from the passenger seat. I reached out to her, but she waved me off, holding onto the car door as she pivoted on the seat. I held down my scream as she jerked her body up and out of the car. A puppet missing a few strings, she was no longer its master.

I hovered behind her, torn between rushing up to her, making her take my arm, and running away, getting back in my own car, and flying south, away from the sight of her decline, away to my old photos of her when she was a teenager, holding me on her lap; or a young bride beaming next to her equally young husband; or the farmer’s wife, posing for the local newspaper with her husband and three boys; or a contented grandmother, toddlers on either side of her, intent on the book she was reading to them.

She walked through her house, me and our husbands close behind, but not so close to make her angry. She picked up one, then another of the shawls I had knitted for her. Purple, gray, and brown lacey patterns draped over the backs of chairs, ready for when she felt a chill or when she wanted to feel the love that grew within me as I ran to catch up and close the gap of 11 years between us.

When she called several years ago and told me she had Parkinson’s, I felt time fall away. I couldn’t be that mysterious hobo of a little sister anymore, a role I luxuriated in, so different from her openly traditional wife-and-mother. My heart ran ahead of me, trying to make up for the years when I was too busy living my own life, never realizing we couldn’t run fast enough.

My sister doing what she loved most. Here she is holding a relative’s baby. She wrote: “Lousy picture of me, but at least the baby is good.”

Marie A Bailey

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35 responses to “Thinking of My Sister on Her Birthday”

  1. Oh, this is so haunting, Marie. A puppet missing some strings!!! I can so see her struggling to control her body. I am so sorry for your loss. This memoir is such a beautiful tribute to your sister.
    I also love the photo and what she wrote on it. Shows much about her as well. XO

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  5. Sad, but encouraging, to read this. I’m sorry that your sister is gone, but clearly not forgotten. I do like her remark… “but at least the baby is good.” ❤️

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    • Thank you, Ally. I like that you found it encouraging. We all like to think we have “time,” but we don’t. I’m grateful for all the memories I have of my sister and for all the reminders (her letters, photos). That remark is so my sister ;-)

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  8. I’m so sorry, Marie. This must be a difficult day for you–and all the should haves and if only creeping into your brain. This is a poignant piece. I love her caption on the photo, which makes me think she’d just tell you to get on with it. Sending you hugs. 💙💙

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  13. Such beautiful words for your sister. I lost my sister Pat last year. A few months ago I was scrolling through some old voice mails on my phone and came across one from her. Oh how I cherish it. I have now saved it in several different spots so I will always have it near me.

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  14. Wonderfully descriptive piece. I can see why it is still raw for you but I also think that most of us would be grateful for someone to write something with such love in it in our memory. How many people in our lives touch us so deeply?

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