Marie at 1 Write Way

Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte

My oldest sister Charlotte would have been 79 today, October 7, if she had lived. She died on November 26, 2022.

Charlotte was my mother’s first baby.

My mom and Charlotte in December 1944
The first-born child of Florence.

 

She was a few months shy of 13 when I was born. Here she is with my brother sitting between her and our sister Shirley. I am, of course, the baby in the photo.

The four of us: Charlotte, my brother, Shirley and me.

 

Over the years, Charlotte blossomed into a beautiful young woman. I was often gobsmacked by her beauty. None of these photos have dates so the order is possibly random. 

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My sisters Charlotte and Shirley took radically different paths from each other. Shirley married the man she first met when she was 16 and stayed happily content with him and their growing family until her last breath. Charlotte suffered through two failed marriages and then became a widow after six short years into her third marriage to a man who possibly loved her more than all the others that came before him. He also loved to sing as did she.

Charlotte being serenaded.

Charlotte had rheumatic fever when she was a young adult, leaving her with a weak heart. She was cautioned against having children because of it. According to one of my cousins, Charlotte had the fever during her first marriage, and it was our mother, not Charlotte’s husband, who got her medical care. 

I often viewed Charlotte as a tragic figure, looking for love in the wrong places, struggling to support herself, pining for the children she could not have. She eventually found happiness in St. Petersburg, FL, which too quickly turned to grief, but through it all, she had friends who made her feel loved.

I failed at that. During the last several years, Charlotte and I shared a mutual dislike, due in no small part to our political differences. When my mother started spending winters with her, we would drive down from Tallahassee and visit, trying to be as pleasant as one could be with someone who didn’t welcome our presence. It hurts to remember those tense visits, the TV so loud that we could hardly converse, my sister quick to argue if I said something she didn’t like. I came away from one visit, the last one we had, feeling that my sister actually hated me. 

We had had some good times together, times when we’d go out for a few drinks, long phone calls where she’d tell me stories about coworkers, the two-and-a-half weeks I stayed with her while she underwent heart valve replacement surgery. There was something about my sister that made you want to help her. I might have gone a bit overboard with that back then, helping her when she didn’t want or need it, and then feeling resentment it when she didn’t seem appreciative. That wasn’t fair of me.

Eventually our phone calls became shorter and farther between. I felt that the harder I tried to find common ground with Charlotte, the more I realized what little in common we had. It hurt. It hurt to call her and not be able to say something as simple as “How are you doing?” without her snapping back, “I’m fine. Of course, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” It hurt to think that the sound of my voice was enough to twist her mood into something ugly.

It hurt, but what hurts even more is that the last time we did talk on the phone, when she was in hospital because she couldn’t breathe on her own anymore, that last time I was so close to telling her I love her. The words were in my mouth, but I couldn’t say them. We had been so angry with each other for so long. Somehow I knew that by saying I love you, I’d be saying Good-bye. And I just couldn’t do that. I couldn’t admit that she was dying.

 

Marie A Bailey

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40 responses to “Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte”

  1. Grief anniversaries and birthdays can be so difficult. I send you love as you journey through the memories and hope you realize you did your best and sometimes that is all we can ask of ourselves.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Thank you for sharing these personal thoughts and memories, Marie. I love the photo of her holding baby you with your siblings. She looks like she wants to be all grown up. And your brother is so adorable. It’s sad that you grew apart (but I can imagine what was on the loud TV, and that would have made me crazy 🙂). We can’t undo, but I imagine she knows you did love her. Sending hugs. 💙

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    • Oh, wow, thank you, Ellen. I did fear she’d think I was saying goodbye if I told her I loved her. She was already scared by her struggle to breathe. I didn’t want to make her feel worse, I wanted her to have hope.

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  8. “Somehow I knew that by saying I love you, I’d be saying Good-bye. And I just couldn’t do that. I couldn’t admit that she was dying.” Totally relatable. Remember, she knew you were on the other end of the phone, holding vigil with you no matter what.
    hugs

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  9. You are most generous in sharing Charlotte and your difficult relationship with us. Families can be so very complicated. Somewhere deep down, I am sure there was a love.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, Janis. Politics definitely created a wedge between us, and I made every effort to avoid discussing politics with her. We might not have been close these last few years, but I didn’t turn my back on her. I think she knew I loved her because I still reached out to her.

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  12. As others have said, families can be complicated things. I have a sister who none of us talk to anymore, including our parents. Every once in awhile I think that I should reach out to her to see how she is doing. She is my sister after all, but then I realize that nothing good would probably come from doing so. So I don’t. I applaud you for continuing to try to find something with your sister. You did the best you could.

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    • Thank you for sharing your story, Mark. I can understand your desire to reach out to your sister as well as why you don’t. Maybe if my sister had estranged herself from everyone in our family, I wouldn’t have written this post. In any case, I often gritted my teeth when calling my sister because I never knew what kind of mood she would be in. I’m sorry my sister is gone, but I don’t miss the stress.

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  13. I was moved by your sister’s tribute. In a few days, it will be my husband’s birthday. He would have been 37. The day after his birthday is our anniversary, it would have been our ninth wedding anniversary. As I get closer to each milestone, my heart feels heavy and it lightens when the day passes. For family he wasn’t really close but he always fantasized a version where everyone did get along. Even with him gone, I don’t think that will ever happen.

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    • Oh, Julie, it breaks my heart that you lost your husband at such a young age, so early in your life together. My deepest condolences. I am moved by your story. I, too, used to fantasize about everyone getting along in my family, and often with a loss there is a coming-together, but it’s always brief. Too soon everyone returns to their corners.

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  15. A poignant reminder to enjoy the people you have in your life– and to forgive yourself if you can’t say the words you want at the right time. Actions speak louder than words anyhow.

    Liked by 3 people

  16. I agree with the others. On some level she knew you loved her. But, perhaps it sounds cold but you have to meet people where they are at. If all she gave back was anger and bitterness I think I would have stepped away long before you. You didn’t give up.

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    • Thank you for your kind words, Zazzy. Charlotte did make it difficult at times, but I’m glad I hung in there. Granted, I often allowed a lot of time to pass between phone calls just to avoid her bad moods ;-)

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