Back in the fifties jeans were certainly not in vogue for women, but my sister Connie wore them proudly. A bit too large, they were gathered at the waist
by a belt that had additional holes punched into it and a long end hanging out. She was skinny, not from anorexia, but from rheumatic fever which very nearly wiped her out.
I was two years younger and as silly siblings go, I filled the bill. All during her illness, I was in the state of jealousy. Jealous of the tiny gifts she received, jealous of the attention, jealous that you could look out of her hospital window and watch chipmunks with acorns scurrying about, and even more jealous when she came home and was "fattened up" with milkshakes and carried around.
I never once thought about the shots she had to get, the fevers she endured, or the pain she must have been experiencing.
In my mind, she was lucky and truly blessed. After all, the priest gave her last rites and she lived to tell about it.
As she slowly recuperated, she became a tomboy with a hat always on her head, fluorescent at that. Still getting attention. To top it off, she was smart, did exceptionally well in school and I often heard references to her brains and whether or not I would be as good!
She wore her hair short; I wore mine long. She wore pants; I wore dresses. She was honest and truthful; I was not.
Once we were invited (one at a time) to a neighbor's summer cottage for a week to help take care of their kids.
I went first, and at that time, it was required that we go to church on Sunday. I lied and told my mother that they took me to church. My sister stayed only one day and insisted that they take her home so that she could fulfill her duty. I only felt a little bit guilty about my week's vacation. I had not learned the art of obedience yet.
She matured into a beautiful person, inside and out, body and soul.
Her life has not been easy. The rheumatic fever caused valve damage and she now walks around with an artificial one, listening to it click. What a fright that must have been to go through! Just a few days afterward, she was walking around, pale as a ghost, but with her usual face of determination.
She has the spirit of the Lord within her. You can see it in her face, and in everything she does.
So my sister, after long and many years, I apologize to you for my jealousy. I was mean. You are at the top of my heroine list. I can't even begin to tell you how much you are admired and loved.
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Reviewed by Anita Rutkoskie
6/3/2008
I think we all were sometimes jealous of what our other sisters had. Being the third (out of four girls) girl in the family, I always got the hand-me-downs. No matter if they fit or not. I can remember the shoes were the hardest to wear, but you made do. In looking back now, I was lucky to have had what I had. Strange how life looks different when you are older.
God Bless, Anita
Just remember, we were kids, and the story between the lines is that I was pampered and spoiled, and it hurt--you! I grieve for the little sister who longed for those special treats that were given to "the sickly one." I love you with all my heart!
You and the others have told me how I was resented, especially when I kept wanting you to come up and keep me company in the bedroom, or bring me more pineapple juice or whatever. Believe me, with all the attention (and sister, brother and Mom "Maid Service")I was oblivious to anyone not wanting to do things for me.
Those "tiny gifts" you mentioned were not so tiny in a poor family. I hate the thought that when you would tell Mom about some new exciting thing at the corner store, she would have you buy it, but not for yourself. No, it was for "poor" me. I'm so sorry it was hard on you. I didn't know. And I was spoiled, sick or not.
I was always jealous of you for being "the pretty one" in the family.
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