I remember the day I got a call from my sister Judith who was 11 months younger than me, and who had been battling cancer for the last couple of years. She called to let me know that she had decided to stop fighting the inevitable and whatever time she had left she didn’t want to spend it suffering from the side effects of the medications she’s been taking. She decided to call hospice so her pain could be managed and she could wait in somewhat comfort for her final journey to begin. Judith told me how grateful she was to have been able to spend this past year with her children and grandchildren, and how blessed she felt to have had that time.
The world lost a very caring and giving person a few months ago, and heaven gained a very thoughtful and joyous soul. This is how I choose to cope with this reality. My grandfather once told me while you’re young you will attend a lot of weddings, and when you get older you will attend a lot of funerals, but don’t despair at the tears of joy and sadness you may shed along the way as those tears fill our pool of memories and, after all, life in the end is all about the memories we’ve made.
As I reflect on the memories my sister and I have made together over the years, there is one that always makes me laugh; although from my point of view at the time I wasn’t laughing.
I remember when my dad was stationed at Fort Knox, Kentucky. We lived in a two-story brick duplex on post in an area named Prichard Place. My bedroom was on the first floor, and upstairs there were three bedrooms and a large bathroom. My sister Judith’s room was at the upper rear corner of the duplex. I would on many occasions sneak out my bedroom window at night and hang out with my friends. On this one particular night I returned to my bedroom window and find it closed and locked. My mom had gotten up in the middle of the night, and finding that I was gone, decided to lock me out of the house. After checking all the windows and doors on the first floor I noticed that my sister’s bedroom window was open about 6 inches. Now, my big brain had a thought. Noticing that every fourth layer of brick at the corner of the duplex protruded about an inch from the rest of the other bricks had presented an opportunity. I, at that time being as stealthy as Spiderman, decided I would make my way up the corner of the duplex, reach out and grab the window edge, and heave myself into my sister’s room where I would quietly make my way back to my bedroom. That was my plan and I was sticking to it.
Everything was going as planned until I reached the point where I could reach across and grab the windowsill, and that’s when I realized my reach was missing its mark by a few inches. “No problem,” I thought, “I’ll just bend my knee launching my body up closing the gap between my left hand and the windowsill.” I must admit if there had been anyone around to witness this feat they would have been impressed. I sprang into action and now, hanging by my left hand, I reached up and grabbed the inside of the window frame with my right hand. Just as I’m about to heave myself in through the window, the window slams down on my fingers like a ton of bricks. I let out a yell as I lose my grip on the windowsill and fall hitting the ground hard landing on my back. I’ll never forget the thought of dying as the air was slammed from my lungs. As I lie there, arms reaching for the sky as I gasped in vain for a breath of air, and seeing my sister Judith as she pops her head out the window looks down at me yelling, “What the hell are you doing?” I couldn’t speak, but I remember bringing my hands together as though I had her by the throat. I spent the next couple of weeks grounded and assigned a number of chores for my penance.
I am truly blessed to have been able to share this life with such a wonderful person as my sister, Judith. Although I am sad our time together in this life has come to an end, I know in my heart we’ll have the opportunity to once again sit together and reminisce. Until that time know that I love you sister; in my heart is a memory, and you’ll always be there…
