“You’re always a happy camper,” my kid sister, Kate, says to me, frequently. “Even from back when. I’ve seldom seen a photograph where you weren’t. Whereas, the rest of us…” She sighs as her claim tapers off; the ‘rest of us’ being our four older siblings.
I’m in her Florida home, fifty-eight miles southeast of mine, enjoying faded photographs of her and me during childhood, a monochrome to Kodachrome procession of us aging over the years, corralled in silver and brass frames crowding the desktop in her den.
“You’re smiling in them, too,” I insist.
“But even when you aren’t you’re happy.”
She’s right. In every print I stand guilty as charged, picture-proof that regardless of the rocks life hurled at me, I caught them as stones and skimmed them as pebbles across a body of blue. Setbacks, solutions, and silver linings have ruled my world in that way.
Kate triumphs, too; but does it differently. Unlike me, be it a word, a look, or an action, she wounds easily and holds onto the hurt as lifeblood. She can recite the time, place and reason for every slight she’s perceived from others, intentional, or not. She suffers the “slings and arrows” of both fortune and misfortune. Her self-esteem rarely rides on an even keel.
Most of that is reflected in Kate’s self-deprecating sense of humor where she casts herself as the ugly duckling and also-ran.
Until she turned 12, she shadowed me like a stray puppy inviting approval — but as a tall teen, she began rolling her shoulders forward and slumping down to avoid attention. She took a back seat in all her outings with friends. She never challenged authority. She catered to the wishes of others. She refused to go to her junior prom with a boy she had a crush on unless I agreed to find a date and go with her. (I did.) She always worked harder to strive higher because she felt, in doing so, maybe, just maybe, someone would love her.
I don’t think she’s ever accepted that everyone does love her — not because she played a great game of league softball for nine years, or bested those at any table where board games ruled, or succeeded at every task she undertook, or graduated from college summa cum laude, or even when she became an executive at Columbia Pictures in Hollywood, rubbing elbows with celebrities, daily — but because she is without guile. She’s soft spoken and generous. She’s never late for anything, ever. She’s decisive and dependable. She is the first to answer the call, to offer her time, and provide for others whether asked of, or needed, or not. Her meek demeanor matches her downy curls and wise eyes the color of a Russian Blue.
…and more.
.
THE ABOVE EXCERPT IS FROM:
Seriously, Mom, you didn’t know?
by Marguerite Quantaine © Copyright 2019
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M A G P I E à la modus operandi 
Thank you, Theresa. So many have travelled this road before me, I dare not be anything but grateful that I was spared so long, and blessed so much with such a splendid sister.
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Losing the ones we love the most is the hardest part of life. My heart goes out to you.
Love and only the best of thoughts.
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Cheryl, dear, so good to see your words here and am grateful for them. Be well, my friend. Be well.
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Marguerite,
I somehow missed your earlier-this-month blog. Such a beautiful and loving story about your sister. So very sorry to hear the news. Light, love, thoughts and metta to you and yours. Thank you for sharing.
Cheryl Cusson
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Never too late, Jeanne. Always appreciated. Thanks.
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I’m coming late, but with sincere thoughts and prayers.
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Your prayers have been answered, Sally. We’ve shared such joy these past few days (in-between doctors visits and pathologist reports), and have planned on only more of the same. I know you know how precious sisters are — making us all pretty blessed by the powers that be, yes? Can’t be sad for that. Thanks, Sal. Way.
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Love to you and Liz, and, of course, sister Kate. And tears, too. Oh, these bodies, what vessels of love and sorrow… I pray, in my way, and I will pray for you and yours tonight and will have the hubris to ask for a good slathering of rest and joy to wash your way. ooosallyb
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OH man, this is so bittersweet. I am sorry for you all & I love your written account of this trial you’re trudging thru.
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I know you are, Kathy, and truth be told — she was always Kathy to us as kids, having only opted for Kate as a forty-something adult. So, each time I’ve seen your name pop up on my newsfeed I’ve been reminded of her. And, will continue to be. Thanks, kiddo!
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{{{ HUGS }}} from me! Gentle tail wags from Káva and rusty healing purrs from Leprechaun, Dusty, and Tarzan!! Remember …. no one fights alone.
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You are so right, Lida, and I must say, without the cats and dogs by our sides, it would be all the worse for wear on our hearts. They are calming and steadfast and earth angels helping us along. Thank yours for us and you, too, dear friend.
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sorry to read this and made me swallow hard…lots of ❤ and hugs for all of you.
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Know your hugs have been put to good use, Cathy, and very much appreciated. Can’t get enough of your hugs. Yep. This is what I’m feeling.
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Life is such a precious commodity, and we must it embrace with every breath. “In remembering we keep what is best and dearest as treasures forever.” Marguerite, sending love and virtual hugs to you, Elizabeth and Kate at this difficult time.
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It is, indeed, precious, RJ, and we’ve had the good fortune to have each other through the thick and thin of it all. Until she’s gone we have no regrets. Nary a one. Thank you for reaching out.
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Once again, your words travel across the miles and through the computer. I was smiling nostalgically, reliving, and wondering about family similarities I call “tribe.” Marguerite – I’m crying genuine tears for you and your family, and I stand in awe of your ability to convey your love so eloquently that me, as a reader could “see.” Sending Angels and love to you all (across the miles, through the computer) and hugs to all. ❤
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I see your angels and raise you two back, Yvonne, returning the concern and love you send with my grateful heart.
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Marguerite, I am so very sorry that you’re losing such a beautiful woman, sister and friend. Life just rears up and stomps us at times, but I know that you are doing all the things you can to let Kate know your love and make her transition as comfortable as it can be. Please know that I, and all who love you and your insights, hold you close at this time.
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She’s being incredibly brave, Ann, worried more about the two of us than herself. I so appreciate your words, not just now, but always. Thanks.
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I only ‘liked’ the blog because that’s what you do to show you ‘read’ said blog. But my heart breaks for you, Elizabeth, and Kate. Hold on to the memories. I feel the love in every word. Praying for all of you and your family. ❤
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I know you are, Rogena. And,I thank you.
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