Phone Call Before Dawn

 It's never good news when the phone rings before your alarm.  Last Sunday morning I woke  up to one of those calls.  I knew when I had a voice mail from my dad and a text from my brother, both before 5am, that something was terribly wrong.  Something irreversible had happened, and life was forever altered.  I really don't like giving bad news.  I hate having to make those sort of phone calls.  It seems like no matter how you say it, which words you choose, it is never right.  It doesn't convey the right feeling, it's always jarring, a jolt to the system.  Some words are better left unsaid, or at least delayed, so the illusion of peace can continue for a moment more.  I don't really even want to type out the facts of what happened.  I started writing this post last Sunday.  I couldn't publish it.  I don't really want to now.  You see, my dear step sister Cherie passed away.  How do you say those words lightly?  They carry so much weight.

She was young, only 48.  A vibrant, active woman, with a family, a husband, 2 grown sons, and grandkids.  She was ever a hero for those that needed rescuing.  She worked, she played, she served, she loved.  And last week she died.  We don't know what happened yet.  She went to bed Saturday night, and did not wake up Sunday morning.  No answers, only questions.

In the midst of all the unknown, here is what gives me great comfort.

• The last conversation we had was loving and kind.
• I can hear her laugh in my memory anytime I wish. 
• We last parted with a hug.
• Cherie is not gone.  Who she is lives on and I will see her again.
• Families are forever.

 I have been thinking of all the ways she touched my life and want her to know just how thankful I am that she became my sister.  Over the last week I have replayed so many memories.  I have laughed through my tears, and smiled in the sadness. 

Dearest Cherie,

When we met I was at such an awkward stage of life.  I was in Junior High and wanted so much to be cool and pretty and grown up like you.  I was too skinny, to dorky, too shy.  I had no idea how to dress or do my hair and make up or any of those girly things.  You made me pretty.  You did my hair and showed me how to put on eye liner.  I remember how you did my hair that fist time.  You curled it and pulled the front back in a blue ribbon.  It felt like magic, like you were my fairy godmother and now I got to go to the ball and be beautiful just like the other girls.  We cruised Main in your Corvette with the tops off, blasting Lover Boy.  I really thought I was cool when I was with you.  You never acted like I was a dorky kid.  You treated me like I was cool, even though I am sure I was not.  You were the cool one.

You taught me about boys.  What it meant to have a boyfriend, how to write a love letter, how to break up when they were a jerk, and how to flirt.  I am not sure I ever really mastered those lessons, but you tried.  You helped me feel ok about being a girl and growing up.

The first time I ever ate "fancy" ice cream I was with you - cookies and cream at a dairy in Norfolk.  You always were drawn to excellent food!  Your homemade pear butter is some of the best stuff to ever hit my tongue.  I wish I had it right now.

 I love your laugh.  It's the best laugh ever.  When you laugh, it's all out, from the gut.  That's how you are, every emotion is all out and from the gut.  You don't hold back - love, or anger, joy or sadness.  You are the genuine article, nothing phoney baloney about you.

Being part of a fractured, blending, crazy mixed up family, you are always the peacemaker.  You are everyone's "sister".  You are not limited by the bonds of blood, or marriage - you love us all!  When our parents were marrying, and things were stressful, you made it better for me.  I suspect, you made it better for a lot of people.  

When your own life got rough and scary, I saw how you handled it.  You took responsibility for your own situation, and went to work.   You showed me how to be a grown up., even if you weren't quite ready for it.  

When I was graduating from high school, and our shared parents weren't going to make it, you called me.  You knew I needed to know the bad news, and you had the strength and maturity to let me know.  You let me cry, and told me it would be ok.  You told me you loved me, and that you were proud of me for graduating.  You did what big sisters do, you took care of me, and tried to make it better.   You have always made me feel included, and wanted.  

I don't think I have every laughed or screamed more than on that skiing trip we all took that one Christmas.  Oh my goodness.... PO fessionals ..... I am sure only you and I get that joke!   More than once I thought we were going over the mountain cliff in that motor home!!!  Your scream is as unique as your laugh!    It was on that trip you taught me the important skill of how to take of your bra without taking of your shirt.  I use this skill nearly everyday.  I can't imagine life without knowing this!

My life is better because you were in it.  Thank you for being my big sis when I needed one.  Thank you for loving me, and teaching me.  Thank you for sharing your wisdom and your talents with me.  Thank you for being you.  I love you Cherie, and I miss you. 

Wendy