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In memory of my sister, Darlene Horton Williams.
Aug. 14, 1946 - Dec. 3, 2007
She came into my life without warning. As was the way when I was six years old, I was sent to spend the night with my grandparents without being told my life would change, forever, while I slept. I left home as an only child. I returned as a big sister. I went from being the sole recipient of my parents' time, love and attention to someone who had to share those treasures with this tiny newcomer to my world.
I think it would have been easier to accept this new member of my family had I, as today's children are, been told that she was coming and how it might affect my life. I wasn't prepared to see this tiny person in my mother's arms, my bed and my father's heart. I wasn't prepared to go from someone who was always cared for and protected by my parents to someone who would, later, often be charged with caring for and protecting the baby. Watch out for your little sister became etched in my heart and mind.
Through our growing up years, there were good times and bad as we shared our lives. I had every doll and book I had ever received. She destroyed them all - removing the heads from the dolls and shreading the books. We worked together to dress the cat in doll clothes and push him down the street in the stroller. I enjoyed spending time alone reading or writing. She was ever present, wanting my time and attention. We sang, talked and laughed as we did the dishes after dinner. I washed. She dried.
She was later replaced as the baby by a brother who joined our family. I often wondered if she went through the same turmoil and feeling of loss that I did as she watched a new person take over a role that had been hers for so long.
Time passed. We grew up and went our separate ways. I stayed on the East Coast. She made her home on the West Coast. She came home to visit for a few days every five or ten years. I went out West to see her a couple of times. There were a few phone calls on birthdays and holidays, but there was no real connection between us for almost forty years.
Six years ago, while dealing with the illness and death of one parent, and then the other, we were able to spend some time together. Though we had not been close for many years, we found that we talked all night if given the chance. We were astounded to find that many of our experiences, beliefs and attitudes were the same, though there had been no discussion of such things over the years.
We were finding ways to relate. We were getting close and becoming a source of support for each other after all of those years apart. We were looking forward to really getting to know each other, again. We were talking of taking a trip across country, or a cruise to Alaska.
She called Thanksgiving evening to say she was headed here from Seattle and would be home for Christmas. She had bought my parents' house and invited me to join her family there for Christmas dinner. She sounded happy and was excited about people she wanted to see and things she wanted to do while on this visit home.She died of a massive heart attack in a hotel room in Akron on Dec. 3rd, while on her way home. She left my life just as suddenly and unexpectedly as she entered it. There will be no more all night talks, no more encouraging words, no more getting to know each other, again, after all those wasted years.
I am trying to accept that she is gone. I struggle, daily, to make peace with a situation that seems unreal. I tell everyone I know to always be sure there is nothing left undone or unsaid that would make it easier to deal with the death of a loved one. I am able to get through most days now without the overwhelming grief. I still wrestle with how this could have happened, how she could possibly be gone. And, from time to time, I remember that I was charged with taking care of my little sister and being sure she was safe. This time, this time, I couldn't do it, because - just as with her birth - I didn't know her death was coming. And, as on the night she was born, my life is changed, forever.
I love and miss you, Little Sister! Happy Birthday. Rest in peace.
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