Another Sister is Home

Older Sisters.

Another sister is home. When we were kids, one of the best things in life happened when our older sisters came home to visit.

Iva, the oldest, lived in Michigan with her six kids, an even set of boys and girls. Some mornings we woke up to find they arrived during the night, and hurried downstairs for the fun. One summer Iva came with her half-dozen when we had Fresh Air children from New York city. There’s a family photo of all of us in the front yard, eating watermelon (because how else could one spit the seeds out as you ate?!) There were at least 17 of us, all under age 15.

Our other older sisters were as different as the sun and the moon. Barbara lived in Delaware most of our lives and came home on holidays and for the entire summer. How we relished waiting for her return so we could stand back-to-back with her to see if we were finally “bigger than Barb.” She was 4’8″ and took it all in stride, willingly taking off her shoes so we could measure heel-to-heel to make it fair.

Our other sister was Katharine, who spent time in Baltimore, Ohio, Pittsburgh, and Michigan. Sometimes she’d be home for months at a time. She had two bouts of rheumatic fever which put her in bed in our home – and we were delighted to have her home. Our sister Katharine went Home two years ago, and I still have days I want to call and ask her something, because Katharine would know the answer –  but I can’t.

Empty spaces

It never mattered when our sisters came – they never came often enough or stayed long enough. How little we realized what a gift we had in our older (half) sisters who loved us, helped us, applauded us, and taught us about life.

Last week, the impact of their lives hit me in a new way. One sister said, “We never realized how blessed we were when we were little. Sometimes we wondered what it would be like to grow up in a home with one set of parents and full-siblings, but look what we would have missed if they were not part of our family.”

Yes, how much we would have missed! As we sat around the dining room table and in the living room, I kept waiting for Barbara to saunter out from her bedroom. She didn’t come. 

In the past, after their retirements, there was always an older sister around the house, listening in on conversations, sometimes participating in games, and asking questions about our lives. This time, the rest of us were home, but Barbara was gone. That is because our sister is Home. There will be no more older sisters putzing out from a bedroom to listen in and participate in conversations. That era is gone, and I’m sad.

Barb’s desire was to live and die at home. She most certainly did not want to go to a retirement home. She didn’t need to go. One day, she laid down to rest and when nap-time was over, she was in Heaven. What a way to go!

Barbara

Barbara was a teacher in heart and in profession. Long after her retirement, she continued to learn and try to teach. She believed in helping people figure things out themselves. She wanted to continue to learn to do the same. 

In the last years, it was rare when we came home to visit that Barb didn’t bring a book to me – one she’d picked up at the Thrift Store across the street. She read the book and thought I’d like to read it, too. I learned not to read the book while I was there and try to return it to her. It was important that I took it home with me, so I did.

There were things that Barb could do. She didn’t like to cook, but she peeled potatoes and washed dishes. She didn’t like to sew, but she managed to make do. Barbara could fix things and finagle things to make them work. Years ago, she came into the house one day and asked if anyone had any gum.  

I was probably ten, and I said, “I have some ABC* gum,” to which she replied, “Can I have it? That’s the kind I need, anyhow.” 

I removed the chewed gum piece from my mouth and gave it to her. She went outside and used the gum to fix something under the hood of her car. I don’t know what it was, but I know it worked. We just shook our heads. She mounted blocks on the pedals of her car so she could reach them to drive. Ever adapting to make things work, that was our Barbara.

Barb taught us how to tie our shoes, helped us with school projects and homework when she was home. Barb typed using “hunt and peck”. Once I typed a paper required for one of her college classes. She was meticulous and wanted to rewrite as I was typing what I was told was the final copy. I thought it shouldn’t take as long as it did – then then, I was a free-spirited teenager.

I punted on teaching my kids to tie shoes. Barbara taught me, and she could teach my kids as well, I reasoned. So, they had to wait until we went to Delaware where she lived, or when we met in Maryland in the summer and she was there. They have not forgotten.

Once in a visit to her niece’s home, she was fascinated by the old house in their backyard. Barb just had to walk outside around the house we called the Civil War house because it was built in that era. She was 91, and fascinated at the stone steps going into the cellar from the outside. Kai, her great-nephew, walked with us, listening to her exclamations about its foundation, the roof, and those steps. Ever since, Kai refers to that house as “Aunt Barb’s house”.

When family came home to visit, the kids either found her, or she found them. Even in her nineties, she sat on the floor to play with her great-nieces and nephews. Every child loved Aunt Barb. Every child was loved by Aunt Barb.

Declining health

In her later years, Barb developed health issues that are common with folks in their nineties. She also became hard of hearing. When it’s hard to hear, one feels left out, and sometimes ignored. Memory goes and suspicions can abound. Sometimes she worried about things already taken care of – and sometimes she forgot what we told her and minutes later, she forgot, again. Our family faced those months and years as most families do. Sometimes it was frustrating, sometimes difficult, but we loved our Barb and wanted her to know our love. None of us wanted her to need to leave home, but we wondered if the time was coming soon. Most importantly, we wanted her to be safe, and happy.

Now our sister is home

When I received the call that our sister was Home, I smiled – not for me, but for her. Her wish was granted. She was able to live and to die at home. Her life, well lived, was steady and sure. Her faith was living and real. She left her mark on the hearts of the hundreds of children she taught, both in school and out of school. I know when she entered Heaven, she heard the words, “Well done.”

That is why, today, we can rejoice, for our sister is (finally) Home!

Photos 

Barb, taken at home one evening. This photo is special to us because she is sitting in one of the chairs made by our father in 1936. Photo credit: our sister Rachel Miller.

Aaron and his aunt Barb – showing us all how he is “so much bigger than Aunt Barb”. 

Aunt Barb with a great-nephew Kai. 89 years’ age span, taken three years ago.