I have three bad days a year. April 1, June 25, and the day I say kaddish for my sister.
April 1, 1962. Sunday morning. My mother sat on the sofa with a strange look on her face. We were told she was going into the hospital to give birth and someone else would take us to church. When we got back, we were told we had a sister. I was 9. My brother, John, was 4, my other sister, Sueanne, was 3. My brother burst into tears and said, “You promised me a brother!”
Later, we found out when Christina was born and my mother was told she had a girl, she said, “Put it back. I want a boy.” A few years later, while complaining about her sister-in-law (The Drunk’s sister), she said, “Why does she get all the boys and all I get are girls?”
When Christina was 13 months old, she opened the cupboard door and explored what was under the kitchen sink. My mother and I were in the kitchen where my mother was pinning the hem of a suit she had made for me. She watched Christina open the bottle of oven cleaner and pour it on herself. My sister cried. My mother changed my sister’s clothes, but put the oven cleaner soaked sneaker back on my sister’s foot. My sister cried for hours. My mother yelled, literally, at her to stop crying. Eventually, my sister’s diaper needed changing and my mother saw my sister had second and third degree burns from the waist down. The worst burns were on her foot. The foot that was clad in the oven cleaner soaked sneaker. For the rest of her life, my sister had an ugly scar that covered most of the top of her foot.
Christina packed a lot of life into her 35 years. Long before it was an olympic sport, tricks and being airborne while skiing was called hot dogging. My sister and her friends went skiing. Sleet started. For the last run, the sleet was so bad that my sister went down the hill with her eyes closed. When she got to the bottom, her friends asked where she learned to hot dog. She told them she didn’t know how to ski.
One day, my mother asked Christina if she had started having periods yet. Yes. Why didn’t she tell anyone? “I didn’t think I had to.” When asked what she did when her period started, she said there was always a supply of feminine hygiene products under the bathroom sink. She took a pad and pinned it in her panties.
For about six years, Christina dated a musician – Pete. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, Pete joined us. He called our grandparents Grandma and Grandpa. Eventually, Pete formed a band. Christina went to all the gigs and was the band’s photographer. She had a 35mm camera and taught me a few tricks. That fed my interest in photography. Sometimes, Jim and I would join Christina, Pete and the band at a bar in Olcott, New York. One night, I didn’t like what one of the other band members said to Christina so I punched him on the arm. Fortunately, he didn’t hit back. It was the only bar fight I’ve ever been in and I was sober at the time.
Eventually, Pete and Christina broke up. Jim and I have remained friends with Pete.
Although Christina wanted to be a surgeon, she knew our parents wouldn’t send her to college. The Drunk liked to say it was a waste of money to educate a girl unless she was going to be a teacher or a nurse. And so Christina learned cosmetology when she was in high school. There was no party when she graduated and no one went to her see her walk across the stage.
A few years later, my sister saw a mole on her back. The mole started growing. Then the mole changed colors. Having severe acne, my sister had been seeing a dermatologist. On one visit, she mentioned her mole. The dermatologist looked at the mole and said it had to be removed immediately. My sister had planned a vacation in Mexico and wanted to wait until she came back from her trip to have the mole removed. The dermatologist insisted the mole be removed immediately. When she came back from Mexico, she saw her dermatologist again. He told her he had the mole tested twice. The results were the same. My sister had a particularly aggressive form of melanoma. Her dermatologist told her that had she not had the mole removed, she would have been dead in a month.
At the time, I had recently found out I was adopted and was looking for my father. Finding birth parents isn’t easy even if the adoptee has a birth parent’s name. Christina told me no one wanted me to continue hurting, and she knew someone. Someone knew someone else and at the end of the someones was someone who could help me find my father. I declined and found my father a few weeks later. It was nice of Christina to say no one wanted me to hurt, but that wasn’t accurate. I’m convinced my mother stayed up at night thinking of ways to hurt me.
Eventually, Christina followed her boyfriend – who she later married – to New York City. Christina became Brad Pitt’s hairdresser. Brad isn’t a natural blond. I know this because when she worked in New York City, Christina only did hair coloring. She made Brad a blond.
After touring France with her husband, my sister decided it was time to settle down and have a baby. Chloe was born June 1, 1994. It was a cesarian birth and there were photos. My sister’s hair was perfect. I begged my sister to let me stay with her for a couple days in July so I could meet my niece. I took the train from Buffalo to New York City. Naturally, the train was late. I took a cab driven by a cabby who spoke broken English. When he tried to explain he was going to go “down, around and through,” I looked out the window and saw my sister’s building about halfway down the block. I got out of the cab, tipped the driver, and walked to my sister’s building.
During this visit, we did a little grocery shopping. I was astounded at the price of produce. Raspberries were $16 a quart. At the time, Jim and I had a huge vegetable garden, fruit trees and raspberry bushes. I should have packed vegetables and fruits rather than clothes. I could have set up a table on the sidewalk outside my sister’s building and sold all the produce long before the police could arrive. Then I could go and buy new clothes. My sister and I talked about baking. I could make great tasting baked goods, but they weren’t pretty. My sister could make gorgeous looking baked goods, but they didn’t always taste great. Between the two of us, we had one pastry chef.
Over the years, Christina found other suspicious moles and had them removed. If melanoma is suspected, quite a bit of tissue is removed with the mole. Melanoma grows like an ice berg – most of the mole is under the surface. The dermatologist didn’t remove all of one mole. Eventually, the melanoma took over and killed my sister.
My mother decreed that if Sueanne or my brother told me Christina was sick or she had died, my mother would cut them out of her will. They sold their souls for what would amount to less than the cost of a new car.
A friend saw the obit and called me. I’m half Irish. I’ve only heard keening once. It came out of me and it was a blood chilling sound.
Yahrzeits – the anniversary of the death of a loved one – are based on the Hebrew calendar – a lunar calendar with 13 months in a year. This year the anniversary of my sister’s death is today – June 25 – on the civil calendar. Her yahrzeit is tomorrow on the Hebrew calendar. At sundown, I’ll light a candle and say kaddish.
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