My sister passed away in July 2009. It was one of the hardest times of my life. Packing her things into our pickup and bringing them home, I placed them in a corner of my office. As I placed each box, one on the other, I wondered how come this was all I had left.
Time has passed now. I can't say that it is easier. I know the tears sometimes come without warning and the pain is still felt as if it were the day that she passed away. Remembering the little things that we did as children has helped some. I have dear friends that say, "It will get easier but the tears may come without warning." There's just an emptiness I feel that I just can't put into words.
My sister was the adventurous one of the two of us. She also was the one with all the ideas and I was the one that helped implement them.
We were always making mud pies, building forts out of sheets, playing circus, finding buried treasure, making towns with little cars and playing with our dolls.
This particular time we decided that it was the day to play circus. No matter where my mother was in the house, she knew what we were doing. I always thought mom was the smartest woman I'd ever met and she could see through walls.
My sister and I decided that the couch was going to be a trampoline so that we could reach the ceiling, where our swing was to get to the high wire and landing on the back of the sofa, the high wire. Together we would jump on the sofa, touch the ceiling and land on the back of the sofa and walk the high wire.
Mom was in the kitchen when she heard the giggling and heard us hitting the ceiling. "What are you girls doing in there?", she said and to her question we both replied in unison, "Nothing!" Then came the ever powerful, "You girls stop jumping on that sofa right now!" My sister and I looked at each other wondering how in the world she could see us. We looked at the wall and then went and examined it. We just couldn't see how she could see us.
We continued with the circus act when my sister landed on the back of the sofa and I missed hitting my head on the lamp that was sitting on the end table. I didn't break the lamp instead I broke my head. My sister yelled, "Karen is bleeding, mama." My mother ran into the living room and spanked me for the jumping and then hugged me and took me to the kitchen to wash my head to see how badly I was cut. She told me, "You could have killed yourself." I told her I wouldn't do it again and she told me, "If you do, I'll kill you." My sister went upstairs and got her favorite doll. She told me, "You can hold her until you get well but I want her back."
I always wondered about that statement. If I don't kill myself doing something, she's going to kill me for doing it. It's funny the things that come from a mother's mouth when she's frightened.
©Karen A J Rinehart
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