The Straight Skinny

Last November, I wrote in this blog about my sister.  What I said then applies more than ever now.

That post is repeated below.  What is new since that post is that my sister will begin hospice care next Tuesday.

On November 15, 2009 I wrote:

Nancy is my sister.  She was born almost nine years after me.  Until she showed up, I had Mom and Dad and lots of other things to myself.

When Dad took Mom to Fargo to give birth to Nancy,  I was being baby-sat by my Grandmother Johnson.  She informed me of my sister’s birth.  I remember bragging to my friends and their parents that I had a new baby sister and her name was Nancy Lee.  I was wrong about Lee, because, when Baby Nancy came home, she was Nancy Beth.

Things changed when Nancy came home.  I became yesterday’s news.  Dad adored her.  She was a cute little scudder, so no wonder.  Before Nancy arrived, Dad had taken up photography, and he took lots of pictures.  Many of them were of me.  After Nancy arrived, I seldom got in front of Dad’s camera, and Nancy became the most photographed person in the world for awhile.  New pictures of me became as rare as a Hispanic at a church lutefisk supper.

I don’t remember being resentful about this change of attention from me to her.  I think I rather enjoyed it.  It became easier for me to fly under Mom and Dad’s radar, and that was a very good thing, especially when it came to Mom.  She was the strict one.

During these early years at home, I don’t remember Nancy being very special to me.  I’m sure I loved her in a kid’s sort of way.  When she got older and could defend herself a little, I enjoyed tormenting her when I had nothing better to do.  Typical kid stuff.  For the most part, Nancy was below my radar.  I probably only tolerated her.  We were almost from different generations.

When I left home to join the Navy, Nancy was probably only eight years old – a lowly little kid.  I don’t remember hugging her and saying goodbye.  I don’t remember hugging Mom and Dad for that matter.  I don’t think we were a family of huggers in those days.

During the next several years I’m fairly sure I didn’t write any letters to Nancy.  I knew she was in a safe place and I didn’t think about her.  I’m sure she felt the same way about me.

Later, when I was married and had kids of my own, she seldom entered my thoughts.  I was living my life, and she was just starting out on hers.

When Nancy graduated from high school, we went home for her graduation.  It was then that I began to have a realization about how smart, funny and nice she is.  She was fun to be around.  It would have been nice to be her friend.

But, I went back to my life and she to hers.  She went to college and became a nurse.  She got married to Doug and had two daughters.  Still, even though we had more in common, we seldom communicated during all these years, but we got a little better at it.

After Doug and Nancy’s girls were grown, (They are wonderful people, by the way.) life became very cruel to my sister.  Our parents died. She became ill with one serious disease then another – a life threatening one.  Also, Doug was diagnosed with a serious, chronic condition.

I’m ashamed to say that this is when I finally started paying attention and began to understand how special my sister is.  In spite of these hardships, she fights on.  Although she has every right to, to my knowledge she doesn’t complain.  Self-pity is not her style.  She presses on with life as best she can.  The same can be said for Doug.  This has been going on for years with them, yet there isn’t a sense of defeat in that household.  Nancy and courage are synonymous.  I could go on and on.

Everyone needs a list of heroes from whom they can draw inspiration.  Everyone also needs a special person to top that list – a super hero.  I have mine.