(Pictured on the sofa, Bev, Mike, Helen and me; in the floor is Ann, Helen's son, Jeff, and Dee Dee. This photo was taken in Feb. 1993 after my son's services as we recollected Doug's sense of humor.)

My first vivid memory of Helen involves a pink, taffeta dress with a huge sailor's collar trimmed in a multitude of rhinestones. Dad said she didn't have any place to wear such a fancy dress--with crinolines that made it stand out. So~Mom told him that she'd gottentickets for the Uncle Orrie Show
(a local T.V. show for kids). Obviously, they bought the dress plus a blue, taffeta one for me. I didn't like the 'noise' of it and changed back into a cotton frock (plus my curls all disintegrated). By the time Dad agreed to 'change' me at the studio, we were dreadfully late and they were already 'on-the-air'. I went running on-stage (as they said to do) still wearing the cotton frock. Over the sound of the show, Helen--still off-stage--could be heard stomping her feet in a rage of anger. "I'm a princess! How could they start the show without me?"
Helen's my sister.
I love her.
Always have . . . always will.
Shortly after our dad passed away,
followed by the puppy he'd given us,
Helen asked for a pet but Mom said 'no'.
Helen then asked, "Mom, are there mice in heaven?" "No, Honey! There are no mice there." So~Helen then asked Mom, "Could I have one of your old purses please?" Mom gladly gave her one that Helen took it with us.
The minister was asking for 'Amens' and 'Hallelujahs' without much success. The congregation seemed devoid of spirit so he suggested that we all kneel to pray. As we kneeled, Mom's old purse was knocked over and fell open. Helen had found a nest of mice which she'd placed inside the purse so they could 'hear the word' and go to heaven. These mice, now freed, scampered up the dresses of some of the kneeling women. Suddenly, women were jumping up and climbing on the pews with 'Oh Lord', 'Amen', 'Hallelujah', etc. The men, just as animated, were checking their wives skirts for 'invaders' and then searching (some on hands and knees) for the culprits.
The children were, like Helen, saying "Run, run little mice."
When things quieted down and Helen admitted to having brought the mice,
Mom wanted to 'punish' her. The minister, however, said it was God's answer to his prayer to 'liven' the congregation.
Helen's my sister.
I love her.
Always have . . . always will.
On another occasion at church we were both then teenagers . . . growing rapidly. I wore a long, straight purple skirt and, when I sat down, the zipper popped! Mom heard it, sent Helen and I back home so that I could change. Now, being modest, we had a problem with how to discreetly get me home without my rear-end being seen by a boy. We linked arms, back to back, and stumbled down the road home. Everytime one of us 'tilted', the skirt tore a little more down the back till there was but an inch holding it together. We laughed and laughed at how strange we looked coming down the road, now and then changing 'who' was leading 'who'.
Helen's my sister.
I love her.
Always have . . . always will.
We grew up, grew apart, grew older and then discovered email :)! Since I am deaf, for the past several years Helen and I often email one another one to five times daily. "Hello" "Hi!" "How are you?" "Me? I'm fine." "I could use a funny." I'd send her a funny joke or story and she'd write back. "Ha ha ha!"
Helen's my sister.
I love her.
Always have . . . always will.
Several days ago Mom came to Helen and said, "Come home." She didn't have to ask twice. Helen took her extended hand and then Dad took Helen's other hand. "Hello, Princess." Helen smiled and never looked back. It was quick but Helen was ready to go home. Each and every one of us have our own memories of Helen, our times together, what she meant to us. Each and every one of us will have a part of Helen in our heart forever and always.
Helen's my sister.
I love her.
Always have and always will.
Shortly after dad died, when Helen was eight and I was five, someone gave us a pair of roller skates--those old-fashioned metal ones that you could adjust to fit anyone. Mom said we had to share them. Helen tried them first and fell. Then I tried and fell too. Then we decided we'd each wear one skate, hold onto the fence and propel ourselves up and down the driveway. It worked but eventually we decided to try skating together, arm-in-arm with one another. My skate was on my left foot, Helen's on her right and we'd push off with our free foot. Oh, we got really good at skating together that way. I think Helen got a pair of roller skates just like that one once she got to heaven. She's been unable to skate on both still and is waiting at the Golden Gate for me. I can almost hear her. "Hey, Sue, look what I've got! Whenever you're ready, we'll skate together down heaven's streets of gold. I'll be waiting." Already I miss her.
Helen's my sister.
I love her.
Always have . . . always will.


***Per my older sisters request a long time ago, I gave the eulogy for her services October 6th in Dayton, Ohio. My sister, Helen Frances Wenning, age 58, died of a sudden massive heart attack on our (mine & Al's) 15th wedding anniversary, October 1st.