Sis
Well, it's been a difficult month. Lot's of highs and lows. The lows have been work related. But the highs are always related to my personal relationship. I don't want to go on and on about her because she would be embarrassed, and have to explain to her family. A large family. Which got me to thinking about my own family. And how small it is. Was. Always shall be.
My sister was 3 years older than me. We never really got along. The first memory I have is of us sharing a bedroom. Separate single beds. I think she was in junior high, me in grammar school. She would always yell at me in a clenched whisper to stop moving around in bed. The sound of my restlessness would keep her awake. When she was in high school I could never enter the house after school. I had to ride my bike for hours at a time. Study at the library. Until my parents would come home from work. Later I realized she was entertaining high school boys.
She was a terrible student. Straight D's and F's. Numerous detentions and suspensions. She dropped out when she was 17. The next year, when I entered North Hollywood High School, I was summoned to the vice principal's office due to our peculiar last name. Asked if I was Bobbi's brother, I could only nod. Well, I suppose I could have lied. But what would that have gotten me? I was told that if I caused any problems, started any trouble, I would soon follow her by being expelled. They had their eye on me!
Well, I excelled in High School. Numerous citations for excellence, the Drama Club, Choir, Senior Council. Meanwhile, my sister was raising a family. We lost touch with each other over the ensuing years as my time was eventually taken up with the raising of my own family over 3000 miles away in New York. When I received the news that my mother was not doing well, I decided to come out to Las Vegas and try to help. My sister was already here. So we renewed our sometimes contentious kinship.
Whenever the four of us would go out for a meal- be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner- if a comment was made about the silverware or an ashtray, or a glass, my sister would pocket it. One such time, we were at an IHOP and I was offered some Cholulu Hot Sauce for my omelet. I loved it. When we exited the restaurant, Bobbi pulled a bottle from her purse and offered it to me.
I think that's about the only thing she ever gave me.
She got me involved in a weekly bowling league, although I had never bowled. We played every Saturday night. Every Sunday morning one of us would discover some new bowling related injury. Neither of us got much exercise beyond our bowling excursions. She loved to record Lifetime movies during the week and spend her weekends on the couch watching them. One after the other. I would go to movies by myself, one weekend seeing 5 films within 3 days.
Then, in early 2003, she pulled a back muscle. She had to quit the league. She went to a chiropractor who only made it worse. After several weeks of full time pain, she went to a doctor. He took x-rays, then a cat scan, and diagnosed lung cancer. Bobbi had been a cigarette smoker since she was 16. And now, 47 years later, all that inhaling had finally caught up with her. She started chemo but, after only one session, decided it wasn't worth it. She bought herself a wig when her hair started falling out but never wore it- preferring a baseball cap instead. When I accompanied her to the doctor's office I asked how long she had but she stopped him before he could answer, preferring not to know.
Less than one year later, she was gone.
As seems to be the custom in my immediate family, Bobbi was cremated. My dad already had my mother's ashes on his bookshelf so he asked me to take care of my sister's. She resided on a plant shelf in my kitchen for several years- a fitting tribute to a woman who hated to cook.
On the 6 year anniversary of her death, I asked my dad if he ever remembered her being happy. "She had a hard life," he answered. "She made a lot of bad decisions."
But she left us with two beautiful boys who grew into a responsible, caring men. And two of the most gorgeous granddaughters anyone would ever wish to gloat over.
She was a terrible student. Straight D's and F's. Numerous detentions and suspensions. She dropped out when she was 17. The next year, when I entered North Hollywood High School, I was summoned to the vice principal's office due to our peculiar last name. Asked if I was Bobbi's brother, I could only nod. Well, I suppose I could have lied. But what would that have gotten me? I was told that if I caused any problems, started any trouble, I would soon follow her by being expelled. They had their eye on me!
Well, I excelled in High School. Numerous citations for excellence, the Drama Club, Choir, Senior Council. Meanwhile, my sister was raising a family. We lost touch with each other over the ensuing years as my time was eventually taken up with the raising of my own family over 3000 miles away in New York. When I received the news that my mother was not doing well, I decided to come out to Las Vegas and try to help. My sister was already here. So we renewed our sometimes contentious kinship.
Whenever the four of us would go out for a meal- be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner- if a comment was made about the silverware or an ashtray, or a glass, my sister would pocket it. One such time, we were at an IHOP and I was offered some Cholulu Hot Sauce for my omelet. I loved it. When we exited the restaurant, Bobbi pulled a bottle from her purse and offered it to me.
I think that's about the only thing she ever gave me.
She got me involved in a weekly bowling league, although I had never bowled. We played every Saturday night. Every Sunday morning one of us would discover some new bowling related injury. Neither of us got much exercise beyond our bowling excursions. She loved to record Lifetime movies during the week and spend her weekends on the couch watching them. One after the other. I would go to movies by myself, one weekend seeing 5 films within 3 days.
Then, in early 2003, she pulled a back muscle. She had to quit the league. She went to a chiropractor who only made it worse. After several weeks of full time pain, she went to a doctor. He took x-rays, then a cat scan, and diagnosed lung cancer. Bobbi had been a cigarette smoker since she was 16. And now, 47 years later, all that inhaling had finally caught up with her. She started chemo but, after only one session, decided it wasn't worth it. She bought herself a wig when her hair started falling out but never wore it- preferring a baseball cap instead. When I accompanied her to the doctor's office I asked how long she had but she stopped him before he could answer, preferring not to know.
Less than one year later, she was gone.
As seems to be the custom in my immediate family, Bobbi was cremated. My dad already had my mother's ashes on his bookshelf so he asked me to take care of my sister's. She resided on a plant shelf in my kitchen for several years- a fitting tribute to a woman who hated to cook.
On the 6 year anniversary of her death, I asked my dad if he ever remembered her being happy. "She had a hard life," he answered. "She made a lot of bad decisions."
But she left us with two beautiful boys who grew into a responsible, caring men. And two of the most gorgeous granddaughters anyone would ever wish to gloat over.
Just really sad. Life isn't always perfectly balanced, but hopefully, the legacy of what she left behind, stellar progeny, is in some way compensatory for all the troubles she experienced. RIP.
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