La versión en español está después de la versión en inglés.
If my sister, Dale, hadn’t died of cancer at the age of 29, she would be 74 today. It’s gotten to the point where it’s impossible for me to imagine who she would be at such an age. We like to believe that our loving relationships, especially with family, would survive our entire lives. They rarely do. And no one can tell me we would love each other as much as we did back then or we would get along as well. There is no way of knowing that.
We were so incredibly different. Neither of us had really grown up by that time. I was 26 and still unformed. I met San Geraldo five months later. She was even slower than I in some important ways, but she had already been married more than 8 years and had a 7-year-old daughter. She had traveled quite a bit before settling down at the ripe old age of 21. And that was across the Atlantic in England. One thing we both had in common was the desperate need to run away.
Her fantasy was that a prince on a white horse was going to come from a foreign land and carry her off. One of our cousins had been so worried about what would happen to Dale when reality set in. But, it didn’t. At least not then. An English princely type she met in Edinburgh, Scotland, swept her away. There was no horse. I suppose I had the same fantasy and I also suppose mine came true, as well. But back to Dale. It was a whirlwind romance. It seemed they couldn’t live without each other and four months later he arrived in New York. A week later, they were married. And two days after that they left for England. He made a good impression on us. I was elated. So were our parents.
But, The Kid Brother had a terrible time dealing with Dale’s departure. I lived away from home at university and he was left on his own. He idolized her. He wouldn’t speak to her new husband that entire visit. Years later, after Dale had been dead a few months, The Kid Brother came to visit me in Boston. As we walked and talked one evening (I could tell you exactly where we were at that moment), he said, “So, we lost our big sister.” “Yeah,” I said, “It’s hard, isn’t it.” Sobbing, he said, “She never should have gone with him!” And then we had a heart-to-heart where I explained love (which I knew nothing about), and how lucky she was to have had such a good life with someone who loved her so much. I did sort of believe that. Amazingly, it was a turning point for KB. Not so much for me. Mine took much longer.
So, this year, given my overall malaise, I’ve been thinking about Dale a lot. She was a good person. Damaged, but so incredibly kind. If anyone was in need, she was the first one there, from the time she was a child. Our two severely developmentally disabled cousins worshipped the ground she walked on. A neighbor’s adult daughter, an aspiring professional tennis player, was in a car accident that left her in a wheel chair with no ability to speak, process, or remember much of who she was before. The woman asked for volunteers to help bring her daughter back. Dale immediately volunteered and spent hours with her chatting and even teaching her how to hold her tennis racket. That began a cascade of improvements. Mother and daughter adored Dale and were so grateful. By the time Dale left for England, the daughter was writing a book. That gives you an idea of my sister.
Dale had challenges with marriage and motherhood. She had no guidance and wasn’t one to ask for any. She always used to address her letters to me “Dear Little Brother” and sign “Love Big Sister.” She wrote at least once a week from the time I went away to school. I received her last letter a week before we all flew to England to watch her die in hospice. She addressed that letter “Dear Big Brother” and signed it “Love, Little Sister.” I don’t think it was intentional. That broke my heart.
That’s not how I meant to end this epistle! So just enjoy adorable Dale’s smiling (mostly) face.
Si mi hermana Dale no hubiera muerto de cáncer a los 29 años, hoy tendría 74. Ha llegado al punto en que me resulta imposible imaginar quién sería a esa edad. Nos gusta creer que nuestras relaciones amorosas, sobre todo con la familia, sobrevivirían toda la vida. Rara vez lo hacen. Y nadie puede decirme que nos amaríamos tanto como entonces ni que nos llevaríamos tan bien. No hay forma de saberlo.
Éramos increíblemente diferentes. Ninguna de las dos había madurado realmente para entonces. Yo tenía 26 años y aún estaba en desarrollo. Conocí a San Geraldo cinco meses después. Era incluso más lenta que yo en algunos aspectos importantes, pero ya llevaba casada más de ocho años y tenía una hija de siete. Había viajado bastante antes de establecerse a la madura edad de 21 años. Y eso fue al otro lado del Atlántico, en Inglaterra. Algo que ambas teníamos en común era la desesperada necesidad de escapar.
Su fantasía era que un príncipe en un caballo blanco vendría de un país extranjero y se la llevaría. Una de nuestras primas estaba muy preocupada por lo que le sucedería a Dale cuando la realidad se impusiera. Pero no fue así. Al menos no entonces. Un príncipe inglés que conoció en Edimburgo, Escocia, la cautivó. No había caballo. Supongo que tuve la misma fantasía y supongo que la mía también se hizo realidad. Pero volvamos a Dale. Fue un romance apasionado. Parecía que no podían vivir el uno sin el otro y cuatro meses después él llegó a Nueva York. Una semana después, se casaron. Y dos días después se fueron a Inglaterra. Nos causó una buena impresión. Yo estaba eufórica. Nuestros padres también.
Pero El Hermanito lo pasó fatal con la marcha de Dale. Yo vivía lejos de casa en la universidad y él se quedó solo. La idolatraba. No le dirigió la palabra a su nuevo marido en toda la visita. Años después, cuando Dale llevaba unos meses muerto, el Hermanito vino a visitarme a Boston. Una noche, mientras caminábamos y charlábamos (podría decirte exactamente dónde estábamos en ese momento), me dijo: «O sea, hemos perdido a nuestra hermana mayor». «Sí», dije, «es duro, ¿verdad?». Sollozando, añadió: «¡Nunca debería haberse ido con él!». Y luego tuvimos una charla sincera donde le expliqué el amor (del que no sabía nada) y lo afortunada que era de haber tenido una vida tan buena con alguien que la quería tanto. En cierto modo, sí lo creía. Sorprendentemente, fue un punto de inflexión para KB. No tanto para mí. El mío tardó mucho más.
Así que, este año, dado mi malestar general, he estado pensando mucho en Dale. Era una buena persona. Herida, pero increíblemente amable. Si alguien la necesitaba, ella era la primera en llegar, desde niña. Nuestros dos primos con discapacidades mentales graves veneraban el suelo que ella pisaba. La hija adulta de una vecina, aspirante a tenista profesional, sufrió un accidente automovilístico que la dejó en silla de ruedas, incapaz de hablar, procesar ni recordar gran parte de su pasado. La mujer pidió voluntarios para ayudarla a recuperar a su hija. Dale se ofreció de inmediato y pasó horas charlando con ella, e incluso enseñándole a sujetar la raqueta. Eso desencadenó una cascada de mejoras. Madre e hija adoraban a Dale y estaban muy agradecidas. Para cuando Dale se fue a Inglaterra, la hija estaba escribiendo un libro. Eso les da una idea de mi hermana.
Dale tuvo dificultades con el matrimonio y la maternidad. No tenía orientación y no era de las que la pedían. Siempre me escribía “Querido Hermanito” y firmaba “Con cariño, Hermana Mayor”. Me escribía al menos una vez por semana desde que me fui a estudiar. Recibí su última carta una semana antes de que todos voláramos a Inglaterra para verla morir en un hospicio. Dirigía esa carta “Querido Hermano Mayor” y la firmaba “Con cariño, Hermanita”. No creo que fuera intencional. Eso me rompió el corazón.
¡No pretendía terminar esta epístola así! Así que simplemente disfruta de la adorable cara sonriente de Dale (casi siempre).
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I can relate. I lost my mother to cancer 50 years ago this past June. I was 13. My mother was just a wonderfully, kind woman. Always the first to help someone, lend an ear, bring a plate of home made cookies. There has been a hole in my soul; a remorse – for as long. I can only hope to be as kind a person as she was. For me, on my mom’s 100th Birthday last year, I planted a Star Magnolia tree in the yard. When I walk past it, I pause to greet her. Occasionally shed a tear, and somehow feel that things are alright.
For better and for worse, Mitchell, it’s these threads that make us who we are today. They may be gone, but when you can touch something beautiful, and the thought of them brings you warmth, you know you are have done right.
Rade:
So awful to lose your mother when you were so young. That star magnolia was a wonderful idea. I moved too much to plant anything in honor of Dale. Her photo sits on my desk and her memories surround me. She was my childhood and early life.
Again I will say that Dale sounds like love, and that last letter beginning and ending show that.
The Kid Brother’s reaction to her leaving is heartbreaking.
I had the same relationship with my big sister who passed away eleven years ago from cancer. We were very different kinds of people and both flawed but she was all love all the time. I kind of think that’s how you and Dale were so I can somewhat relate, though my sister was in my life for many years before she died.
To our sisters, and to you for sharing Dale with us, and the Kid Brother.
Bob:
Chuck had such a terrible time. I can no finally talk about him and remind him of or tell him stories. Until recently, mentioning her name was hard. He would immediately say, “But now?” As if there was nothing else to say. I remember reading your post on your sister’s death after the fact. It was so powerful. “My sister, my big sister. My hero.” I know what you mean.
Mitchell, your post was an incredibly moving tribute to your sister. As I read your words, I also thought of my own sister and how lucky I am that she is alive and well. It is amazing that you have all of these old photos.
It sounds like your sister, even though she only lived 29 years, touched a lot of hearts. Mine has been touched today.
Michael:
Dale was very special. Her life wasn’t easy, even her childhood, but she was able to make it seem happy. She was adventurous, athletic, and somehow had no fear. That did NOT run in our family.
Immortality, is being remembered.
David:
She’s remembered.
What a lovely person she was. That was a big life, even though so short. And she still lives, for you. For us, too, now. Boud
Boud:
She did do a lot of living in her short life. She graduated high school, got a job, and started traveling the world. No fear. She was my inspiration.
Hugs.
Jim:
Hugs back to you.
How is it possible that a woman so filled with such beautiful life force could have died so young? I cannot imagine how bereft you and KB must have been to lose her. Her absence must have loomed larger than you could have ever imagined. I am sure it still does.
Primal pain, the sort that settles in to the very bones of us.
Hugging you hard.
Ms. Moon
Ms. Moon:
Life and death do not make sense. Chuck still doesn’t talk about her, but we’ve progressed so that I can and I relate stories of the three of us. He seems to like that now. Yes, pain in the very bones.
I am not Jewish, but have always loved the expression: May her memory be a blessing.
Seems she has blessed many people during her short life.
Memories to cherish.
jacquie
Jacquie:
I love that expression. And, thank you, her memory IS a blessing.
She was a lovely caring young woman. I doubt who she was would have changed much as she aged had she been given the chance to age.
ellen abbott:
That she was.
A very moving tribute. She sounds like a remarkable person. Jx
Jon:
She was my idol when we were young. By the time we hit our late teens, I became her idol and advisor. It was an interesting and wonderful relationship.
Beautiful Dale. Cancer is a scourge.
Love,
Janie
janiejunebug:
Yeah, cancer is a cancer.
What a beautiful post. Cancer is awful. It took both my parents when I was very young and my sister almost ten years ago. Sisters… there’s something about them. Mine was my best friend. Dale sounds like an incredible person. Keep on thinking about her. My favorite photo is the last one, on the dime store horse.
Kelly:
Dale was my protector when we were young, my fashion consultant and dance instructor when we got a little older, and I became her advisor until she got married. I love that photo on the horse, too. Dale did love horses and rode whenever she had the opportunity, which wasn’t very often.
There’s an ebb and flow to all close relationships, Scoot. Dale sounds like a kind, caring person and I think your relationship with her would have deepened and mellowed like a fine wine. Consider yourself bunny hugged!
Tundra Bunny:
I worshipped her, as you know. But she did have some major challenges that could make an adult relationship difficult.
How lovely and heartbreaking. What a way to be remembered! Olivia
Olivia:
I’ve had so many years to reconsider Dale and the damage that was done. But also how exceptional she really was.
That was a very moving and heartfelt post. Good/sad memories.
Frank D:
And plenty of happy memories, too. Thanks.
This post about Dale was the most emotionally vulnerable one that I recall. The effect on Chuck is so hard to hear about. It’s very humbling for me to hear about how difficult your childhoods were… I didn’t realize how fortunate my sisters and I were. Our life wasn’t idyllic, and our parents weren’t always happy snappy (especially my mom… so many women were overwhelmed with the non-stop double duty of a job outside of the home, and the never-ending job of cleaning, shopping, cooking, cleaning up again, doing laundry, and raising kids), but no one was emotionally cruel to us. None of us, I don’t believe, felt the urge to flee as soon as possible… but, the good thing is, you and Dale did find wonderful loves to build a better life with.
And… wow…I’m so impressed with hearing about how helpful and kind and caring Dale was.
It’s a funny thing to wish, but I wish she could have met Dudo and Moose! (and, obviously, SG 🙂 )
Hugs to you, dear Mitchell.
Judy C:
It was stream of consciousness and I was surprised where it took me this time. I thought I had said everything I had to say about our lives with Dale. I realize there’s so much more. Anyway, Dale plowed through life with hope and wasn’t afraid to try things. She ice skated (and taught me). She loved to ski. She traveled on her own to many parts of the world before she was 21, and she did everything when she was there. She loved animals. She loved to ride and horses were drawn to her. She always had a cat or a budgie. There was a budgie named Sydney who flew around the house when her daughter was little (before Dale was ill). Her daughter wanted a kitten and Dale said they couldn’t get one because they had Sydney. The next day she heard her daughter talking in the kitchen. When she peeked in, her daughter had the kitchen door wide open and was trying to get Sydney to fly out.
Oh, my goodness, that’s so funny!
I can’t imagine how strange and heartbreaking it must be, losing a sister at such a young age and so long ago. I can see how you couldn’t help but wonder where she’d be now. No wonder you and KB are so close, given how you helped him cope with that loss.
Steve:
I didn’t cope well for a long time. But I helped everyone else cope. I was the one who always helped Chuck through things. He was my sidekick when we were young.
Beautiful memories.
larrymuffin:
So many memories.