A Rose for Sharon

 

For many years now, I have posted the single pink rose image to my social media on August 19th and June 4th. Those who know me well know it is in honor of my little sister, Sharon, who died in 1994. Her birth date and her death date. That has been the extent of my communication about my sister or her life since.

Thirty-two years is a long time to hold onto words. I have considered writing about her. It doesn't matter how deep my feelings are for her or how much I cherish her memory, the words don't come easily, if at all. Words feel cheap and wrong. It's hard to even describe why.

Maybe it is because she was our family's: Our sister, our cousin, our niece, our daughter. We knew her best, so no one else should have the right to know about her like we did. Maybe that's why I hold onto my words.

But I realize that if I don't tell her story, who will? 

I have spent hour upon hour researching my long-gone ancestors, yet I haven't written about my own sister. I remember saying to my cousins several years ago that I wouldn't know where to start. It's the story that needs to be written, but truly, where do you begin?

Her end hangs like a dark cloud over her story, but it shouldn't. A senseless murder of a promising young woman just getting on in the world. Finally finding her place. About to graduate and begin a new life after years of searching for the right path. 

~~~

She had recently become an aunt twice over. She was overjoyed and couldn't wait to see our new baby girl, born three months after her first niece. But that trip with Mom to visit us never happened. Instead of a joyous aunt/niece meeting, we drove home to attend her funeral.

We had argued the last time that I saw her on a visit home. Providence nudged me to apologize. I sent a card. When we got home after she died, I saw it pinned to the bulletin board in her room. Thank God. 

A card sent in time.

 

~~~

This spark of life, my sister Sharon, was a bright light in our family. Quick to laugh and joke, with a big heart that embraced everyone. 

In high school, 1984.

 

When she arrived on the family scene, the youngest of the four kids, I didn't know what to make of her. All big blue eyes and dark curly hair. With time the deep dimples appeared whenever she smiled. She was cute as all get-out, but I didn't know what to do with her. She couldn't play with me. That almost six-year gap felt insurmountable for years.

One memory that sticks out is feeling jealous of her when she was a preschooler. Mom let Sharon's brown hair grow longer and longer. (She never cut it until Sharon was about 5 or 6.) It was beautiful hair. Everyone commented on it. When we went to the grocery store each week, invariably someone at the bakery counter would note how cute she was and give her a free cookie. My brothers and I didn't get a cookie. That hardly seemed fair at the time.

As young adults, she and I began to really talk about life, school, boys, etc., and support each other and then our age difference didn't matter so much. I could be an older sister, give advice, and she might just take it. 

Before I moved to New York in my late 20s, Sharon, Mom and I began to do things together like three familial musketeers - going to flea markets, watching chick flicks, or grabbing an ice cream sundae at the local stand. After I moved, Sharon wrote me letters full of silly jokes and puns, and an inevitable declaration of sisterly love with hearts and flowers doodled around it. Like all letters from home, I treasured hers.

~~~

My memories of her are scattered and increasingly sparse: The orange polka dot bathing suit she wore on trips to the beach. Outings to Geauga Lake Park or Cedar Point in the summer. Sharing the bedroom with the emerald green carpeting. Giving her a Beanie Baby doll wrapped in a baby blanket I crocheted for her sixth birthday. When she injured her knee playing softball at a family picnic and needed surgery. Watching her in the high school plays. Sharing nighttime heart-to-hearts as we lay on our side-by-side twin beds. Giggling hysterically whenever the phrase "little cheekies" was spoken between us in a silly voice and accompanied by a cheek pinch.  Sitting for me as I drew her for an art class assignment. Talking on the phone with her when I lived in New York. Developing her own fashion style and indulging her glorious hair, which one aunt called her "crowning glory." Knowing she approved of Jim as my future husband. Considering no one else to be my maid of honor. Coming to visit me in Pennsylvania after I got married.

 

Sharon squinting against the sun, in her polka dot bathing suit, with Joe, Dad, and me.

 

Had she lived longer, I know we would have continued to be close even if we didn't live near each other. These days we would probably be texting each other constantly, sharing memes, gossip, jokes, photos, and family news. 

I know she would have showered our daughter with such bighearted love and eventually that hug would have included our son as well. She might have gotten into mischief with them. In fact, I'm pretty sure of it.

The last photo I have of Sharon, with our niece, Spring 1994.

I hope she will have found her special someone and gotten married, and perhaps I could have loved on her kids as she would have on mine. She would have been a generous mother, introducing her kids to her love of music, holidays, family.

So many moments that should have happened but didn't.

~~~

What can you write about a life cut short? I have tried to comfort myself through the years with the thought that not all lives are long ones—no one is promised longevity. Some lives are just shorter than others. It's a justification that sometimes works. 

I should be able to write a book about Sharon. For now, this is what I can muster. Perhaps it is a kindness that my memories are fading as it stanches the flow of grief that is rising even as I write this. Even 32 years later. I was not ready to lose my sister then. I'm still not ready.

At the same time, I want people to remember this bright, beautiful, young woman, who was the best sister I could have asked for and the one I was blessed with. I'll never forget her. 

If you met her, you wouldn't be able to forget her either.

Sisters, Easter 1993

 

A Rose of Sharon we planted at our Corinth house in her memory.

 

Please, if you have a memory or photo of Sharon, I hope you'll share it.

Until next time... 

Nancy