Rachel

My little sister died four months ago, and for a while I ran out of words. Even as I begin this page I struggle. She was relatively young; she'd had some health problems; she developed an infection; she died. We had never been close; there were eight years separating us in age, so I’d never spent a lot of time with her. As adults we celebrated birthdays, holidays, occasional camping trips and even a rare, just for the fun of it, meal together. We talked sporadically on the telephone. However, those phone calls were often misery to me, always feeling like the length of time on the phone was time I’d never get back. We shared the love of books, movies and theatre, but never really clicked. We were sisters; that’s a forever bond, but I wouldn’t say we were friends. All of this made it so much harder to lose her. There was no longer any time to grow into something more.

It became clear, after her death, how little I and her other siblings knew her. Where she never quite clicked with us, she had definitely clicked with many others. Those who paid vigil at the hospital, those who couldn’t, but could text those who could, those who came to her service or wrote on Facebook all had a similar theme, Rachel meant the world to them. She had helped them during this occasion, paid for that incident, sent them all cards to cheer them when ill, encouraged them when down, celebrated with them on special occasions. She had made them all feel like they were her one, special friend. They loved her; they would horribly miss her.

What we discovered about our sister was her generosity of spirit. She lived out her faith every day through little acts of kindness. People who had only known her hours had the same experience as those who had known her forever – she gave of herself; she made them feel loved. Rachel was a nurse. To nurse is to care for, harbor, cherish, nurture, tend. Her occupation was also her vocation. She lived it fully.

Don’t get me wrong, my sister wasn’t a saint. Within family things were never easy. We had a lot of drama that added to the differences in age and created the distances. Her closest friends affirmed that she could be difficult, but they also had the privilege to see her magnetism as well. They benefited from it and from seeing Rachel share with others. I suppose we missed a lot of that because we didn’t look. She’d sign her cards to us, “all my love.” We used to laugh about the hyperbole of that. We’d joke about how could she give it all to each of us? The fact is, she did. She gave it all to everyone. We just didn’t see it.

As the stories unrolled and we learned who our sister really was, we were overwhelmed. The loss grew larger than all proportion, because we did not know our own sister as we should. We were not estranged. She was in plain sight. Still we missed knowing the essential character. What I wouldn’t give for even five minutes of phone call, let alone the lengthy ones that drove me crazy. Because the most amazing thing is how she presented her siblings to her friends. She was proud of us, excited about our lives. She talked about us, so strangers felt like they knew us. In fact, some of them may have known us better, without having met us, than we knew our own sister.

We live in a world where family has grown apart. My story isn’t that different from many others. We hardly know our own siblings because we hardly have the time for them. They live all over the country. They are a little odd. They don’t share our interests. We love them, see them now and again, and have good times. But we don’t go out of the way to call, or invite them over just to spend time. And then they are gone and the hole they left is disproportionate to the relationship – or exemplary of it.

It’s not just about regret or guilt. There is definitely some of that. But it’s bigger than that. Loss and grief change everything. Life goes on, but it is never the same. Our family is smaller by one. We watched our sister leave this world, surrounded by her immediate family and many of her even larger, extended family. We felt the kick of death just as hard as when we lost our parents, maybe even harder since this was so unexpected. All the other relational things just complicated an already overwhelming experience.

What then shall I do as the result of meeting my sister posthumously? My other sister suggested we begin with seeking opportunities to be kind, to say “yes” rather than “no”. I want to listen more, not my strongest skill. I want to stay in the present when with people, so I can learn more about them, and better know how to serve them.

Thank you, Rachel, for your legacy of nursing. May I honor your life by living mine more like you- caring for, cherishing, nurturing others God brings in to my life.