My sister
I have 19 siblings. Amazing, a little, isn't it? My Mom and Dad both had some children before they met each other; their marriage added 5 more girls to a combined family that was already 15 children strong. When I was little, the fact that my family was a little unique didn't ever occur to me. All I knew was the table was always full for Thanksgiving and there was always a lot of family to go around. Sometimes my older siblings came to stay for a week or two; sometimes they lived with us for awhile. My memories of growing up are irretrivably linked to my brothers and sisters, many of them decades older than me, who--in the sunny lense of childhood--came laughing and dancing into our lives and left their indelible mark.
I remember waking up and running into the living room because my brother Tom was asleep on the hide-a-bed couch. I remember when Martha and Melissa came home from their missions and the mementos they brought us. I remember sleepovers at Stephany's and her homemade pajamas, made painstakingly meticulous, one for each of us, year after year. And, of course, I remember Rachel.
Rachel lived with us on and off for many years. She was crazy and funny and best of all she would play with us, all the time. She was, in a word, incandescent (although I didn't know that word when I was little).
Shockingly, mind-numbingly, my sister Rachel died suddenly last week. In a moment, the last 20 years of adulthood melted away, and my childhood came back in clear and dazzling colors. In the past week during quiet moments, I can close my eyes and my time with Rachel plays back like favorite movies, you know, the ones that almost seem better in your memory...
...I'm 6 years old and Rachel is playing with us downstairs. We're sitting in a circle and we're playing a game she's taught us. We love it. Rachel is at the head of the circle. In her hilarious way, she's chanting/yelling/singing, "WHO STOLE THE COOK-IES FROM THE COOK-IE JAR? ELIZABETH STOLE THE COOK--IES FROM THE COOK--IEE JAAAARRR!" I'm so delighted I lose track of the rhythm of clapping. "Who me?" I giggle, as the script of the game dictates. "YES YOU!" Rachel roars. "Couldn't be!" I respond. Somehow the memory dissolves with us laughing and piling on to Rachel...
...I'm 10 years old and Rachel convinces me to go running with her. She was an exercise maniac. I've never been jogging before but she tells me I can do it. As we jog, she keeps her pace with me and we talk about everything, but especially we talk about boys. In my memory, Rachel was a little boy crazy. So was I...
...I'm in 7th grade and Rachel is visiting from California. She convinces me that the latest fashion is to wear your sweatshirt like a mini-skirt, using the neck of the sweatshirt for the waist and wrapping the long sleeves to the side, like a bow. I, in turn, convince my best friend that we would be on the cutting edge of cool to wear sweatshirts on our bottom half instead of our top half. We get up our courage and we do it. I think this is also when Rachel was sporting a Cyndi Lauper style hairdo and high stiletto heels everywhere she went. She wore the sweatshirt-skirt all the time, too. I think she stopped traffic in downtown Salt Lake City....
As I got older, I saw less and less of Rachel. In fact, I don't see many of my older siblings. They grew up,they married, they had children of their own, and the inevitable baggage of difficult divorces that I knew--somehow despite how young we were, we all knew--weighed too heavy on each of them to come around very often. Perhaps it's impossible to maintain close relationships with nineteen siblings. I stay in touch with a few of them. I love them all; but, the bitter truth is, many of them I haven't seen for years.
And yet, in the sweet haven of my childhood memory, where there is no drama nor anger nor issues, they are there. They swoop me up in their strong arms and hold me close, they play games with me and tell me stories.
It is there I will always find Rachel.
I remember waking up and running into the living room because my brother Tom was asleep on the hide-a-bed couch. I remember when Martha and Melissa came home from their missions and the mementos they brought us. I remember sleepovers at Stephany's and her homemade pajamas, made painstakingly meticulous, one for each of us, year after year. And, of course, I remember Rachel.
Rachel lived with us on and off for many years. She was crazy and funny and best of all she would play with us, all the time. She was, in a word, incandescent (although I didn't know that word when I was little).
Shockingly, mind-numbingly, my sister Rachel died suddenly last week. In a moment, the last 20 years of adulthood melted away, and my childhood came back in clear and dazzling colors. In the past week during quiet moments, I can close my eyes and my time with Rachel plays back like favorite movies, you know, the ones that almost seem better in your memory...
...I'm 6 years old and Rachel is playing with us downstairs. We're sitting in a circle and we're playing a game she's taught us. We love it. Rachel is at the head of the circle. In her hilarious way, she's chanting/yelling/singing, "WHO STOLE THE COOK-IES FROM THE COOK-IE JAR? ELIZABETH STOLE THE COOK--IES FROM THE COOK--IEE JAAAARRR!" I'm so delighted I lose track of the rhythm of clapping. "Who me?" I giggle, as the script of the game dictates. "YES YOU!" Rachel roars. "Couldn't be!" I respond. Somehow the memory dissolves with us laughing and piling on to Rachel...
...I'm 10 years old and Rachel convinces me to go running with her. She was an exercise maniac. I've never been jogging before but she tells me I can do it. As we jog, she keeps her pace with me and we talk about everything, but especially we talk about boys. In my memory, Rachel was a little boy crazy. So was I...
...I'm in 7th grade and Rachel is visiting from California. She convinces me that the latest fashion is to wear your sweatshirt like a mini-skirt, using the neck of the sweatshirt for the waist and wrapping the long sleeves to the side, like a bow. I, in turn, convince my best friend that we would be on the cutting edge of cool to wear sweatshirts on our bottom half instead of our top half. We get up our courage and we do it. I think this is also when Rachel was sporting a Cyndi Lauper style hairdo and high stiletto heels everywhere she went. She wore the sweatshirt-skirt all the time, too. I think she stopped traffic in downtown Salt Lake City....
As I got older, I saw less and less of Rachel. In fact, I don't see many of my older siblings. They grew up,they married, they had children of their own, and the inevitable baggage of difficult divorces that I knew--somehow despite how young we were, we all knew--weighed too heavy on each of them to come around very often. Perhaps it's impossible to maintain close relationships with nineteen siblings. I stay in touch with a few of them. I love them all; but, the bitter truth is, many of them I haven't seen for years.
And yet, in the sweet haven of my childhood memory, where there is no drama nor anger nor issues, they are there. They swoop me up in their strong arms and hold me close, they play games with me and tell me stories.
It is there I will always find Rachel.
This is us, circa 1975. Rachel's holding Julie. Jenny's in the middle, holding Trish. My mom's got me (and yes, that's Lillian's mouth...and face...)
Comments
Also, HELLO MEMORY! I totally forgot about "Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar"! That was my FAVORITE game as a child and it was totally Rachel who taught it to us and played it with us! We must have played it a thousand times together.
And when you reminded me of that, it triggered a memory of playing "Superman" with her. She'd lay down on her back, lift us with her feet and "fly" us around, high in the sky. The best part is that I have ALWAYS played that with my kids--and until now I never realized that I got it from her. That makes me so happy!
I am saddened for your loss and touched by your eloquent and heartfelt tribute.