Taking Care of Yourself

The Phone Call

By October 14, 2010 No Comments

I was surprised to get a call on my cell phone on a Saturday afternoon.  On the other end was a hysterical voice from my niece.  I could barely understand her.  She exclaimed, “My Mom is dead.”  At first I thought it was a wrong number.  She couldn’t be calling me!!… But she was.

My sister Sara died suddenly in an automobile accident on Sept 4.   She was three years older than me.  There were just the two of us girls in my family.  Now both parents and my sister are no longer living.  I’m the last of the line.

For years I was rebellious and wanted little to do with my family.  I checked out, moved away, and rarely went home.  I was tired of Sara telling me what to do and how/when to do it.

Later I softened, when we became married women with children.  We both had 2 kids, just like our parents did. There were some similarities in Sara and me but probably more differences.

I was impatient with Sara.  She’d always call me at the wrong time just as I was leaving the house.

She was computer phobic.  She’d call to rant and rave, “Why can’t you just talk to a real person on the phone anymore!?”  I was having my own struggles with the computer age!

Sara had a mind like a steel trap She never forgot anyone or anything.  She’d call me to report an obituary of “interest.”  She’d say,  “Susan, you remember Mrs. McIntosh?” I’d answer, “No, I don’t remember her.”  She’d argue, “Yes you do!  She lived on San Luis Road in that pink house.  She was the crabby one on Halloween.”  Then I’d remember.

Since Sara died I’ve been going through all the family albums that Sara stored over the years dating back to the 1800’s.  It’s very sad looking at all those pictures without my sister with me. How many times I’ve wanted to pick up the phone and call Sara to ask her about so and so… or did she remember such and such…  or whatever happened to…

But she’s not answering the phone.

I miss her.

If you’re thinking of someone fondly, you might email, call, or drop them a line.  You never know when it’s going to be the last time.

Susan Wisdom
October 2010

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