On this day sixty one years ago, my sister Susan passed away. Yesterday, my brother Mark was attacked by a crazy person in a New York subway. It’s possible these two events are connected.
A passing angel escorted Mark to a hospital where he received 15 stitches in his head. Angels, he discovered, are not allowed in hospitals, a policy I seriously question.
I still marvel at how my mother knew instinctively, in 1951, to quit smoking when she got pregnant with me, but doctors were still conducting x-rays on fetuses in 1955, when Susan was born.
Leukemia is cancer of the bone marrow. It basically stops making healthy blood cells. There are some decent treatments now, not so much in 1960.
The story goes that our parents tried three more times to bring another girl into the world, only to come up with another man baby each time. Little did anyone know that each new child was just another way to delay Mom’s grief. When it finally hit her, it hit her hard.
Mine was also a grief deferred. At nine, I was considered too young to go to Susan’s funeral. Apparently they thought they were protecting me. All they protected me from was grieving with my family. I missed a chance to learn what death is. I missed a chance to share that bond with my parents, and with my older sister, Jeri Lynn.
Each of those man babies grew up, and became my family, and each one grieved with me in their own way. They still view Susan as their sister, even though they never met her. I view her as the angel for all of us.