This evening Mom asked, “What did Anne die of?”
I do not know what spurred the question. Perhaps it was her own comment, made in jest a little earlier—“I don’t want to play favorites with my kids”--as she got ready to walk across the yard to John’s house to watch TV with him.
Answering her question was a sad relief for me because Mom has rarely mentioned my big sister in the two years since her death. Actually, as I write this, I realize it has been two years and two months to the day: Anne died on Saturday, October 3, 2009. Many times I wish to reminisce about Anne but refrain because I’m not sure whether or not Mom remembers that she died. I’d hate to cause Mom fresh grief if she has forgotten.
Of course, the first question led to others, and I briefly recounted Anne’s three-year battle with cancer and that I went to be with her during her last hospitalization. Mom asked where that was, and I reminded her of Anne’s home in Saxapahaw and her career at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
In just two weeks, my brother Bob and his 13-year-old daughter will be here for a visit. It still feels strange that I am now the oldest sibling. When Bob, John, and I are together, I miss Anne more. I don’t think that I’ve turned her into a saint in my memory—it would be especially hard to do that for my sister whom I feared as a child and loved as an adult. Loud, irreverent, brassy . . . angry, loyal, and brilliant . . . witty, afraid, and determined: I need far more than nine adjectives to describe her complexity of character and her impact as a person.
I’m glad that Mom remembered Anne and I got to answer her questions. It helps to revisit my grief and shed a few tears here at my computer. But I do hope that Mom does not ask again tonight, anyway.
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