The Sister Unit is down by one. I lost one of my sisters last week. She was a year younger than I. Losing a sister is different than losing a parent. I’ve lost one of each. It sucker punched me. The phone call left me stunned into silence as I searched frantically for my voice. How? Why? Please tell me. Gone? I talked to her last week. We exchanged texts over the weekend. I hung up the phone, told my husband, and curled inward unable to find words even for myself to express the impact of the death of my sister. We weathered so much together.
For those of you who don’t know our story, we five girls were raised in an intact, but incestuous home. I’m going to try very hard not to put on a pair of rosy tinted glasses, because if I achieve nothing else, for the rest of my life I will continue to speak our truth.
Elsie was a bright eyed, strawberry haired pixie when I met her. She was three. I was four. My family adopted three girls: Michelle (12), Katie (4) and Elsie. It was a huge change for all of us, and at three, Elsie still wasn’t talking.
Their life before us wasn’t good. The state took the children from their mother. But her life with our family turned out to be worse.
One of the cutest stories I remember before our family moved to Africa was when Elsie was watching our baby sister Carly one afternoon. Carly, newly potty trained, had an accident. When Elsie brought her inside for a change and Mom asked what happened, Elsie (afraid Carly might be in trouble) said, “She was standing on her head in the rain.”
In Africa, while I embraced our cross-cultural experience, she stoically endured it. Elsie adopted one of the feral cats. She loved our toy poodles. She liked babysitting. She even liked doing laundry, which makes her a saint in my book.
I talked to Elsie last week. We texted over the weekend. She was tired, but happy to be settled into her new home. So I don’t feel a sense of guilt “If only I had …” because I made that new home happen. I think I held onto an abiding grief over her challenged life, her longings, her unfulfilled dreams, her lack of understanding as to why she wasn’t loved by my parents. When it fully hit me that she was gone, unshed tears streamed out of a well I didn’t know existed.
Elsie was the reason I jumped my horse over the Swedish Embassy’s wall seeking asylum. Make us safe, I asked. Elsie’s heart couldn’t withstand her upbringing. She struggled. My parents were brutal to her and about her when all she wanted was to be loved, accepted.
I know Katie rescued her numerous times. So did I. When my children were young, she lived with us temporarily several times. She would drop out of our lives for long stretches of a time, and then I might find her behind a grocery store going through a dumpster getting outdated food, or living in a broken-down barn, or holed up with some loser in a rent by the month motel. Katie or I would get her settled until another bump in her road threw her off.
Her daughter was premature and lived in NICU for months. Elsie had a heart attack at age thirty. She was given permanent disability for an anxiety disorder, and lived with her curtains drawn. If no one could see her, she couldn’t get in trouble. She became reclusive, but had an odd measure of independent pride paradoxically combine with a crushing dependence that kept me guessing.
I would give just about anything for her to have had loving inclusive parents, to have spared her her childhood. She was the least resilient of us five sisters.
Despite all, she loved. She needed connection. She took joy in little things. She loved her cats, an extended family for her. She believed in angels. I picture her now, across the stream, as she liked to say, with that childlike twinkle in her cornflower blue eyes, and the impish grin she had as a little girl. She’s pain free. Happy. Loved. Peaceful.
She ended every email, every phone conversation, every text with “Love you, Sissy.”
Love you too, Elsie.
Love this post. And your blog. You’re a great writer!
Many memories of our families when we were together in ethiopia. Im happy she now is in Gods presence but sad for the lonliness you feel w/o her here.❤
What a touching story! Thank you for sharing! An important reminder that there are always those with more struggles than many of us!
I am crying for Elsie and for you! I can not imagine the pain you feel.
Thank you, Jeanie, it’s been a quiet day, with tears at odd moments.
Words cannot express my thoughts and feelings jumbled within me. I pray: Dear God please comfort Laura in her loss in Your perfect way! Amen
In gratitude and wonder
I DID NOT KNOW ABOUT ELSIE’S PASSING. SO SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS, BUT SO HAPPY SHE IS PAIN FREE, BOTH PHYSICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY. BLESSINGS TO YOU.
Thank you, Clara.
I just finished your book. I am sorry your sister’s life was so affected by her childhood. It is hard for you to be a witness without the power to change her world. And, perhaps hard too, that you were able to set up boundaries against those who abuse; while she wasn’t able.
The innocence that the child feels is the gravest loss. And, until you can see the abuser as the monster, your innocence doesn’t seem to return. I am sorry more, that your sister wasn’t able to find her way back to the little innocent girl.
I am like you, a black sheep for, standing up against family due to abuse. I blog; but haven’t reach the point of writing in book form.
Thanks for your words and showing the reality of incest and its ramifications.
Beth, first thank you for standing on your truth. Brava. It isn’t easy. I had never thought about the concept that until you see the abuser for the monster they are, you can’t return to the innocence they took. My husband and I will have an evening discussion tonight. Thank you for that insight. And, finally, yes. Yes, it hurt hard that others in my family could not loose themselves from the dynamic put in place by my parents and set healthy boundaries. Thank you for reading my book. Thank you, too, for sharing your response. Together we make a difference, and that’s what this is all about. Keep blogging! I took a look.
Thank you Laura for sharing. Although troubled Elsie sounds like a highly sensitive and loving person. She was sooooo fortunate to have you. I am greatly looking forward to reading your very important book “The Fifth Sister.” I know it will help many.
Thank you, Anna. Elsie was special. I want to hear from you when you’ve read The Fifth Sister!
Thank you for sharing this deeply heartfelt story. Just reading your words has left a knot in my stomach, and I know that your heart mourns not only for Elsie but for the loss of hope for a better, love-filled life for her. May the good memories bring comfort and the knowledge of her current address in heaven bring you peace.
Carol, thank you. Your words brought tears to my eyes, and “her current address in heaven” a smile to my heart.
I can only imagine how painful and lonely that must feel. I am sorry for your loss, Laura. Thank you for speaking out and sharing about your life. You are an inspiration to me, and you are giving thousands of others life as well
Thank you, Curt. I recently described this time of life as a rollercoaster…chugging up the highest peak, with The Fifth Sister ready to make its debut, and plummeting down into a loop to loop with Elsie’s death. I told her I’d send her a signed copy. She wondered when we were going to make another CD. Still wrapping my head and heart around her passing. So, thank you for commenting, and for the encouragement. It helps more than you know.
Touching, beautiful account, Laura. Elsie’s life is honored by your words, and we pray for her comfort and serenity throughout eternity. Requiescat in pace.
Thank you, Em, for your words, thoughts, prayers, and for you.
I know you loved Elsie. Who else did? Her daughter, surely. But it seems she was (from what I gathered) one of the loneliest people on earth. Now she is not. I am glad. And I am glad you were redemptive — even salvific — in her life. Brava, Laura.
Thank you, John. She was complicated, but worthy of love. At the heart of her, it’s all she wanted. To love and be loved.
I agree with your friend, Jim. Losing a sibling is such a strange reality with which to be confronted. As recently as a couple of hours ago I was telling a friend how I just can’t get my head around the fact that “he isn’t out there (at his home in Oregon – far from me) anymore.” I’m so deeply grateful for the comfort and peace of knowing where he has gone. Hugs to you, Laura. I’m glad your sister had you!
Isn’t it though, surreal to lose a sibling? I know you know. Thanks for the thoughts and the hugs, Sarah!
Dearest Laura, I am touched beyond words. A death and a birth all at once. I have faith in you that you will process it and learn some wonderful truth to share with us. What a precious sister she was. Much love to you.
Thank you, Marti, I’m going to lean in to your faith in me! Thanks for that, and your love.
grief compounds grief…bless you for your sharing.
Thank you, Bonnie. Though not unfamiliar with loss, this one packed more punch than others. My heart to yours.
Sorry for your loss, Laura. I’m glad you have the assurance of Elsie’s peace and joy in heaven.
I lost my older brother to lung cancer a few years ago. The loss of a sibling is difficult to bear, but it helps to know he or she is with the Lord and free of pain and sadness.
Thank you, Jim. I’m sorry for the loss of your brother. And yes, I imagine all that sadness gone and fully loved.