My sister, Lynn, is a true war baby, born in ’45, almost seven years ahead of me. I was an ignorant observer to her years of teen conflict, I wasn’t old enough to comprehend either her pain or her struggle. It took me years to realize the impact of Susan’s death on my life, I was too selfish in my own pain to think of what it might have been on hers.
I just remember a dark house, food brought by strangers, fights at school because I didn’t know the word, leukemia.
I was nine and deemed too young to attend the funeral, so it was never real to me, in many ways a dream, a schoolmate who moved away, a deep shadow of pain that hid in the back rooms. But to Lynn, Susan was the baby sister that she actually got to love and nurture. To her, it must have been very much like losing a child. I only realize that now, as I write these words.
Reflections where the shadows fall are sometimes hard to see.
Not only was I barred from the funeral, Susan was barred as a topic of conversation, for then and forevermore. Not only was she hiding in the back rooms, she was expected to make a quiet exit out the back door.
Each of my brothers, born into that loss, eventually helped me heal myself, each in their own way. David listened to me howling and crying sitting drunk in our parents driveway. Mark took it upon himself to locate Susan’s grave for me. Paul showed me that the journey is always worth the pain of taking the first step.
We are a constellation of six stars, scattered across time and space and a whole bunch of miles. We are Toto & Toto Inc., built to withstand the test of time. If not completely satisfied, your starlight will be cheerfully refunded.