My Valentine Sister

Sixty four years ago my sister had just celebrated her tenth birthday on February 13th. Our mother was pregnant with me and she was staying with our Grandmother. The closest hospital had a rash of staff infections and my Mother chose to give birth in a hospital closer to my Grandmothers home. My sister was on pins and needles as she hoped desperately for a sister. Having five brothers was enough. One more would have been too much for the only daughter in this clan. Her dream came true and I was born on February 15th, a delayed birthday present, but one she cherished forever.

From the beginning I felt her love deeply. Pictures from my early years show her dressing me up for a parade with her friend and her baby brother. That baby brother and I are still good friends today. She made life wonderful for me. I know she was made to babysit and care for me quite a bit but I can’t remember her ever speaking sharply to me or hurting me. She was kind and spent so much time with me. She taught me to read and to tell time. She used workbooks to teach me about money and how to add and subtract. School was easy when I finally went because she had prepped me. And it wasn’t just that. She made it fun using a red pencil to correct my work and using gold and silver stars in my books. We went to the library for books and she read to me. She brought the books to life. And then one day she was off to boarding school. And life changed.

I remember when she would come home. All was right with the world again. It didn’t matter that I was so young. She still made me feel special. It was as if I was the most important person in her world. She was a teenager, and most young girls would find their little sisters annoying. Pests. But she never treated me that way. She made time for me. I was always learning when she was around and she had such an imagination. Crafts were big with my sis. Like the cardboard clock she made to teach me how to tell time. And then she would return to school and my world would shatter. I would cry and cry and my mother would fill me up with sweets. That was her way of dealing with tears. Mom would sooth me by counting how many days until my sister would come home again. I think the best idea they had was when they brought her back to school once and brought me along. It was quite a drive from our small town in Alberta all the way to Outlook, Saskatchewan. But when we got there, my sister brought me on a tour of the school. Her room and cafeteria and the grounds. There was also a tunnel that I found fascinating. I don’t know where it started or where it led but it was cool. I think that was the day I saw how happy my sister was. She loved it there and years later I would understand as I went to a different boarding school. It was wonderful.

My sister was the first child born in Canada and so they gave her a more Canadian first name. Anne. She was often called Anna Banana but the real laughs came from her Danish middle name. Bodil. Pronounced Bow Dill with the accent on the second syllable. My brothers were nasty sometimes and called her Bo-Diddley. Funny enough years later I would become a fan of Bo-Diddley when none of my friends had even heard of him. My brothers all had the same middle name as my Dad which was very Danish and Anne carried on the tradition when her first son was born. I think it pleased my father immensely and later a few more grandsons carried the same name. Those years I treasure as it wasn’t long before she was moved away, married with children and I was still at home in school. I spent time with her on holidays and in the summer but it was different. She was a wife and a Mom. I was still a kid.

In my teen years of course we drifted. I was interested in boys and parties and fun and she was going through struggles. Divorce from an abusive man brought her to live next door to my parents. I babysat a lot and my folks helped her out but again, she had grown up problems with three little kids and I was flitting through life. And then one day she was married again and moved to the other end of the country. First Quebec and then Ontario and the visits were few and far between. And then when I was twenty eight she came home for Christmas with her grown children, and a future daughter in law and everyone came. It was my first Christmas with all of my siblings since I was 11 years old. I missed her but we were different people.

In time she became a widow and moved back west. Her children were all in BC or Alberta and she needed them. And us. So we became closer and saw each other a little more. Efforts were made and family get togethers were better. She was having grandchildren while I was still having kids. And then this woman who swore off of men was being pursued. And he wouldn’t take no for an answer. But he was moving to the States for a job. They got married so she could go too but sadly she coudn’t work. It took a few years and finally she was able to live and work in Washington and life was good.

When they finally retired they set out to see every state and province. They sold everything and embarked on a new adventure in their motorhome and saw the world. Between them they had five children with three in BC, one in Ontario and one in Quebec. Their base was still Washington State and come spring they would come up to Canada, visit kids and Grandkids and then head East. Calgary was a week long stop with her husbands nephew for mechanical work and us two gals would visit and shop and have lunch. She loved value village that girl. But living in a motorhome means you just can’t buy everything you see. Then they would head east again to see her in-laws and the other two kids and the rest of the grandbabies. Once cooler weather hit they would head south and spend the winter in warmer climates. Only to do it all over again the next year. We always seemed to meet them while on motorbike trips. Whether it was their home in Washington or a Walmart parking lot in Montreal. It was coffee at McDonalds or Timmy’s and continue on.

Through the years she was the one who always called. Whether I was home or she left a message it always started the same way. “Hello my baby seester!” Our calls were always long and juicy and gossipy just like our visits. I deactivated Facebook many years ago but I kept messenger to stay in cntact with friends and family but mainly Danish relatives. And so my sister and I would message back and forth no matter where we were. It became our lifeline. When she was diagnosed with a form of aphasia, she eventually lost her ability to speak as well as read and write. Afterwards our communications were with her husband. The man she married after swearing off of men. I will always be grateful to Denis for being there and loving her. In time I know how hard it was for him. The wakeup call came when he had to have open heart surgery and he couldn’t leave her alone. Their travels had to end and they came back to Canada to stay. Close to kids where they could be with those who loved them.

When our mother died Anne and I ended up cleaning out her apartment. Boxes of stuff were moved to my garage after the important stuff was claimed. Decades of letters and cards and pictures. It was amazing. At one point we found a bottle of Akvavit, a Danish drink and toasted our Mom. She is a non drinker and I drink very little. We both have a form of kidney disease and she lost one of hers when she was in her late thirties. Alcohol is not our friend. But we shared a small tiplle and decided that we would toast Mom every time we saw each other. And we did. I still have that bottle and it isn’t empty. I guess I’ll have to toast them both from now on.

I didn’t see Anne before she passed away. Our trip was planned but the brother who was joining me wasn’t well and had to cancel. My last meeting with my big sister was on Facetime. She was happy to see me but became distracted. I knew that the wonderful gal I knew was getting lost in there. The end came quickly and I wasn’t able to see her in person one last time. This is the first birthday since she died. We often talked on Valentines day just to split the difference between our two birthdays. The day that joined us for 63 years. It’s funny. I had one brother who would mix up our birthdays and call me on her day. At the end of the call I would tell him to call his other sister. Because it was her birthday. He is gone now too. Its funny how life goes.

We had our deals like any family members do. Misunderstandings Disagreements. But in the end I have to say I am so blessed that Anna Banana was my big sister. I know my life was so charmed and she struggled more than was necessary. Sometimes it seems life isn’t fair to some. Yesterday I sent a message to her messenger account. To her husband. I am so grateful to him for loving her. Keeping care of her. Trying to do what was best for her when it was killing him both mentally and financially. Loving her as she deserved to be loved.

I will miss you Bo-diddley. Skol my big seester!