January 5th.
It has always been an important date to me. I can barely remember a time when January 5th did not have a special meaning. January 5th is my baby sister's birthday. Karen was born at 28 weeks in 1974. Her arrival surprised and frightened the whole family. She was so tiny that my dad could hold her scrunchy, newborn body in one of his strong, daddy hands. She spent several weeks in the NICU before she was strong enough to come home, still connected to monitors that kept a close watch on her breathing.
I was 3 years old. Well, I was almost 3. I remember Karen's homecoming very well. My parents sat me on the floral couch with mustard yellow tufted pillows providing support under my toddler arms. They placed this precious bundle on my lap and hovered as I gazed down at the jumble of blanket. I could not see her face so I gently raised the blanket and exposed the sweetest thing I had ever seen in my short life. I instinctually uttered a heartfelt, "Awwe!" My goodness, that must have been heart-melting for my parents.
As kids, Karen and I were close. We spent nearly all of our time together. We shared a bedroom with matching canopy beds and Holly Hobbie quilts that our great-grandmother had made for us. We were each other's everyday companion during our early childhood.
We grew up and lost the close connection we shared as children. We would reconnect occasionally, but we were never as close as we were as littles. The drift was not entirely our doing, not as it began anyway. Childhood was rough for my sisters and me. We were essentially left to raise ourselves at tender ages and as a result we had an inclination to go our own ways. As adults it became our responsibility to remain in touch. We did not recognize that nearly soon enough.
Our family lost Karen to colon cancer in September of 2023. It was fast and it was cruel. We were granted a little bit of time to reconnect before the cancer became so overwhelming for her that morphine was needed, but we both felt robbed of time. We realized too late that life is finite. We took our lives for granted and did not give life the reverence it deserves.
The last thing I said to her was "I love you," as I held her hand and loved her into her passing.
As I sit with Karen's memory this morning, her birthday, I am compelled to focus on the love we shared. I am also focusing on the way losing my baby sister has changed me for the better. Karen was a kind and gentle person. Her giggle was sweet, high-pitched, and readily given. I do my best to honor her life by being loving, soft, and forgiving. The way she conducted her life is a testament to how a person can experience a really difficult childhood and still thrive with love and kindness.
It is my privilege to be conscious and mindful to conduct my life in a way that would please her, that would make her proud to have me as a sister. Some days I have to work harder at it than others. Today it will be easy to do as her spirit is sitting very close by, loving me through this day that is meant to celebrate Karen's life.
January 5th.
