Epiphany and My Sister's Death

The Epiphany was a feast I used to like.  In 1999 my younger sister died on this day and I have never felt the same about this feast since.  She had been ill with a bad cold and cough and one of my other sisters had suggested that we and one of my brothers should get together to celebrate the day with her and to ensure that she was recovering.  It had been snowing and the driving was awful as I left work.  After parking my car, I got out and started to walk towards her apartment building only to fall into a snow bank.  I laughed out loud at my clumsiness and got up and brushed myself off.  In the background I could hear a siren from an ambulance or fire truck but it did not register as anything other than an anonymous siren.

When I reached her apartment, I saw the door was open.  I entered and the scene that met my eyes is forever etched on my mind.  My brother was performing CPR on my sister.  He looked up at me with desperation in his eyes and I just sank to the floor.  My legs had turned to butter ( a phrase one of my brothers used to describe how he felt when he was charged by a dog).   He yelled at me to take care of Pip, the family dog that my sister had inherited after my mother's death.   Pip, never a good dog, was barking wildly and racing about the apartment.

The siren I had heard was the response team coming to my brother's 911 call.  They arrived shortly after I did and one of the emergency responders helped me up and put his forehead against mine and said 'if you want to be here, you must be strong and control yourself''.    His calm tone and firm manner calmed me down enough to grab Pip and place her in the bedroom.  The team worked on my sister while I just stood there helpless in horror.

My other sister arrived and I ran out to meet her before she entered the apartment.  I grabbed her and said 'if you want to be here you must be strong and control yourself'.   The rest is pretty much a blur.

The irony of her death on the Epiphany is not lost on me.  She was 'Queen of the Epiphany' celebrations and always made a 'Bean Cake' ensuring that one of my children would find the bean and be King or Queen for the day!  It was a family tradition for us to put a shoe out to be filled by the Magi as they passed by on their way to the stable in Bethlehem - and it was a tradition that I carried on with my own family.  I know it wasn't one of the Kings that took her on that particular day but my older sister who had died just three months earlier.  One of my younger sisters told me that she believed we are given a choice at the point of death - that we are allowed to choose if we will accept it.  I believe my older sister asked her if she wished to be with her again, and she said 'yes'.  Now I believe she thinks that perhaps she could have carried on but she has accepted her decision and is happy to be with all of us in a different way - part of the Circle of Women that have gone before us but are still with us in a very real and special way and always ready to help and support when called upon.

I miss her terribly but recognize that this is selfish.  She was my best friend and always, always there for me.  She traveled with me, accompanying me on my big 'turning 50' road trip out West where we met my daughter.  She traveled with me down to see our Aunt in St Louis when I decided it might be fun to hook up with our cousins there.  She never questioned these trips, just good-heartedly agreed to be my companion!

I wrote about the wind chimes I bought that brought the voices of my sisters back to me.  In the tinkling of those chimes, I hear their laughter and know they are ever with me.