Memories

My older sister May passed away yesterday evening, after a brief crisis of her long-term COPD.  She was 77 years old and the survivor of a very difficult life, shaped by cognitive disabilities and mental illness.  Despite her deficits, she was able to hold an entry level clerical job for 30 years and maintain a marriage that lasted nearly as long.  

After the death of her husband, we moved May from Brooklyn out here to Seattle, where she built a life that was, for a number of years, expansive and interesting.  She loved the ease of travel within Seattle and became a sophisticated bus rider.  She worked at part-time and volunteer jobs that she enjoyed.  But there came a point at which her psychiatric problems began to escalate and, despite treatment and medication, took over her life and shrank her world.  At the time of her death, she was living in an adult family home where she was happy and well-liked and taken care of by trained staff.  We hoped that she would be able to live there until she died, and she did.

Ours was a love-hate relationship.  Her behavior made my childhood a misery and I was happy to be away from her for so many years.  When she came to Seattle, it was a chance to find my love for her again and feel that I could give her something of value.  For a few years, until physical disabilities made more assistance necessary, she lived in an apartment down the hall from me, where she was happy,  and I was able to protect  and support her as her condition deteriorated.

This is a photo of the two of us in our backyard, posed against the garden shed.  We're wearing matching dresses made by my mother.  We are happy and glad to be together.  I will miss those times.