I was in a cheerful mood as I walked into the card store that bright April morning. My sister Rosemary’s twenty-second birthday was the next day and I wanted to give her the perfect greeting. One beckoned from among the myriad of cards. It had a bright red rose in the center and large gold lettering with the inscription “My Sister – My Forever Friend.” The sentiment was appropriate. We were the best of buddies despite our differences. I was brunette, she was blonde; I was shy and studious, and she was outgoing and creative. We had supported each other during the difficult years following our parents’ divorce. When our family shattered, we were children; I was eleven and she was seven. The split was contentious, and we often felt like we were each other’s port in the storm. No one else could share the tumult of those years. As we grew up, Rosemary shadowed me. During my teen years her mischievous streak surfaced, and she would constantly tease and torment me about my boyfriends, until she grew into a lovely young woman and attracted plenty of her own. We became especially close in our twenties and the four-year age gap seemed to evaporate as we both struggled with the demands of young adulthood.
Her birthday on April 10th was a time of celebration and she hugged me tightly after she read my card. 1973 was a happy time for both of us. I was already married, and she was planning to be married within the year. The future seemed bright. Little did I know that her twenty-second birthday was to be her last.
The next time I laid eyes on that card, I was in a despondent mood. Seven months had passed, and I was sorting through Rosemary’s personal mementos after her funeral. My beautiful little sister, who was so exuberant and full of life, had been tragically killed in an accident caused by a drunk driver on November 22, 1973 – Thanksgiving night.
All I had left of my sister were memories and the small collection of artwork and writings she had created during her short but vibrant life. As I gazed sadly at the birthday card, an image of a collage came before my eyes – a collage of her life which I needed to create in remembrance of her. I collected photos of Rosemary from infancy to twenty-two with an emphasis on pictures of the two of us. My centerpiece was the April birthday card with the single red rose and the words “Forever Friends.” In my grief state, that phrase seemed cruelly ironic. Our relationship would be forever immortalized in those still photographs of ourselves frozen in time as children, teenagers, young women and then – nothing. My anger grew as I envisioned the future without her. Our relationship was not supposed to end like this. We should have grown old together.
However, as I slowly sifted through the remainder of her belongings, it seemed as if she were sending me a message. The last greeting card which she drew, decorated and gave to me on my birthday in October 1973 said “Much love and many warm sunny days to a beautiful person – my sister and my friend.” I felt as if she were sending me her love throughout my life. An essay she wrote when she was thirteen, after the assassination in 1963 of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, struck a responsive chord. In that piece, Rosemary poignantly said that although our memories of JFK would be dimmed, we would never forget him. She continued, “For in remembering him, do not remember him silent and still, but full of life. For as you do, although there be tears in your eyes, your soul will be filled with joy in memory of John F. Kennedy.” These works had a strong impact on me especially since her death, coincidentally, was on the tenth anniversary of the slain President’s assassination.
One of her paintings in particular touched me. A premonition of her own death seemed to be expressed in it. The canvas portrayed a blonde girl wearing a black dress and kneeling before a bouquet of fallen roses in an underground room. These mementos were a message from my sister. She was guiding me to deal with the loss of her physical presence by the things she left behind. These tangible reminders of Rosemary were important. Most of all, however, when I thought of her, I remembered the intangibles, her spirit, and her zest for life. She lived each day to the fullest. I vowed to do the same.
Years, then decades, passed and my grief slowly transformed into a bittersweet acceptance. The loss had changed me forever, making each day precious. Understanding that death is part of the cycle of life, I have attempted to make the quality of my life an asset so I can enrich other’s lives during my short time on earth in the same way my sister’s life enriched mine. When I look into the bright blue eyes of my daughter, Rosemary, so like her aunt’s; when I stand in awe before the beauty of a sunset over the ocean; when in my legal career I attempt to understand the tribulations of another person; when I assist my husband in dealing with the loss of his eyesight from a degenerative eye disease; I know my own grief and pain has aided in my personal growth. My life has been more fulfilling because of the short time that I had my sister’s presence on this earth. As Emily Dickinson wrote in her poem, “Life”: “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” My sister’s legacy to me is my hope in the resiliency and strength of the human spirit.
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