Today, I’d first like to wish my little nephew-man a Happy 8th Birthday. I’ve been an Aunt for exactly 8 years, and I think I’ve done a pretty good job!
In my family, Matthew’s birthday brings both celebration and sadness (I think we do a pretty good job of hiding the latter from Matthew). This 48-hour time period, starting right about now, contains a series of events that I reflect on each year as the time passes. It’s not different from other days when I miss my sister, but the sequence of events of what happened comes back into my mind throughout the day. I know that around 7am on this day in 2003 she went to the hospital to be induced at 14 days overdue. Around noon, she was given an epidural. At 5ish, I talked to her on the phone (I was driving home and stuck in traffic in Somerville, MA).
Everything was great then—she felt awesome.
The last thing we said to each other was, “I love you. Bye.”
Matthew was born at 8:50pm.
And I’ll spare you the details of what happened over the next few hours.
But, when she died at 3:15am on October 29th, the world just changed.
The 28th/29th of October are days when I honor my sister by remembering what she went through…and I remember to wonder what it was like for her to face death at least semi-consciously while they tried to save her. I also honor her husband, who was in the room and 25 years old—who didn’t know if his baby was ok, and knew for sure that his wife wasn’t. Because no one should ever have to go through what he went through.
I’ll stop here, and just tell you that it has all made me a better person. I think I’m more realistic. More thoughtful, less dramatic. I’m more likely to see challenges as opportunities, and to realize that we all have a story. I’m not special or different for having lost my sister, and I also have anxiety about time passing, about her death being further in the past—in case that means she isn’t part of my life anymore.
I get good-naturedly jealous when I see sisters together, or hear people complaining about their siblings (I complained about mine too).
At my sister’s funeral I spoke about how she was bossy—and how she was always telling me what to do, even when we were little and she’d have me ride the horse-with-wheels toy up the hill and then she’d ride it down—then I’d go get it and do it again. And my mom told me I didn’t have to do that for her, but I kept doing it anyway. She always made me be the boy when we played house, and the boss (because that was supposed to be a boy) when we played Boss and Secretary (and she was really in charge as the secretary). Even in high school—when we stood at the bottom of our driveway waiting for the bus, and her friends stopped by and gave her a ride and left me standing there—I still loved it when she and her future husband let me cruise around town with them listening to country music (it didn’t happen often).I appreciate that she sent me cards and letters when I went to college, even with signed ink paw prints from her dog. She never stopped telling me how proud she was of me, and that she loved me. When I moved to Boston, she drove me there in my car, helped me figure things out and flew home on my first morning of work.
I remember those things everyday—they become a part of who I am, and I try to channel her when I need to stick up for myself or make things happen in my life.
I’m lucky—and I miss the fairytale life we probably were never meant to have but thought we would.
I have met a woman named Lauren Young, whose sister passed in a similar way as Jen. Lauren is running the NYC marathon next week in memory and honor of her sister, my sister, and other mothers who did not survive childbirth.
Lauren sent me this t-shirt. I can't wait to cheer her on as she runs the NYC marathon!
I’m going to do a few things this weekend in honor of my sister. Below, I’m going to share a couple cards with you that she sent to me–and I hope you’ll write one to someone in your life for no reason other than to tell them how much they mean to you.
This is about 1/10 of the letters and cards I have from Jen. I keep them stashed in several different places among all my belongings. So I often stumble upon them randomly.
When we were young...we fought a lot. I remember thinking I hated her at times, and I'm just really thankful we had time to change that.
Jen and Steve visited me in Boston (in my 400 sq ft apartment) while my boyfriend at the time was out of town---all three of us slept on the California King...Steve was our neighbor starting when I was 8---so, yeah, he was always like a brother.
What are you doing this weekend?
I’m going to celebrate Matthew’s birthday at a party tonight with a lot of people who will also be remembering and honoring Jen.
Today, I’m also celebrating #WineFriday. Then tomorrow I’m dressing up for Halloween (even though I’m not so into the costume thing–I’ll be a good sport!)—I’ll be spending time with friends who are sisters and who know how important they are to each other.
And I’ll be cheering Joe on as he runs the Marine Corps Marathon. {Go Joe!}
