Yesterday would have been her 69th birthday. It so happens that my daughter was born on her birthday 35 years ago, so every year on the 26th of November, I remember my sister, Jannie, even though no one in the family mentions her. Yesterday I remembered her briefly, sadly, angrily, about her wasted potential, about mental illness complicated by oppressive religion, and then changed my mind and thought about something else.
Today, however, I was sewing and baking and cooking, while listening to all my iPod songs in a mixed up jumble, when, from the soundtrack of Oklahoma!, came the song, "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" I've heard it a hundred times, but this time I was reminded that it was from Jannie that I first heard that song. She would sing it loudly, in its entirety in our bedroom in the morning, when the last thing I wanted to do was to wake up. Who knows where she heard it, although it could have been a radio hit back then in the mid sixties. For certain she didn't hear it while watching the movie, Oklahoma! Remembering this about my sister, made me feel a bit better about her life; reminded me that she wasn't always sad, depressed and guilty. When she was well, she was happy, funny, kind, compassionate, giving, caring, and generous. And she loved to sing, and could carry a tune as well as anyone. Particularly when the dishes were being done(she always washed, and was most annoyed if you were to put something back because it wasn't clean yet) there was always a song to be sung, usually one that translated to "Farmer, what say you about my chickens, farmer what say you about my rooster. Haven't they got lovely feathers, or don't you care for the colors" Yup that's a dutch song for you! Anyhow, it sounded lovely when sung by us especially in harmony. And than she'd get the giggles, and then the rest of us would, and my dad would sigh and say, Mama, I think it's going to storm. He said that a lot.
She died when she was 49. April 16, 1992. She would have been 50 that November. She was mostly blind, starting to lose her hearing, and chronically depressed, seemingly without hope. She had asked me a week before her death what would happen if she took all of her Ativan. I, shocked almost speechless, said that mainly she'd have a deep sleep. I asked her then was she thinking of harming herself, and if she was, I would take her to ER . She denied that she was serious but I told her that if she DID do that, I would have to seriously reconsider my faith in the existence of God, as I had been assured that God's people were protected from committing suicide. (when I was a young teen I often worried about my father, as he too was often depressed and despondent) I didn't think that she would then act out my biggest fear, as she sure wouldn't want to jeopardize my faith...
The day following this conversation, she had gone to the mental health clinic and had again verbalized her thoughts of suicide, and was taken to Emergency at that time. While there, they removed her meds from her possesion, and sent her home, as there was an HEU strike on and admissions were limited, ironically, to life threatening emergencies. A few days later, she went to her gp, told him she was no longer suicidal but needed her meds back. He gave her a new prescription, including a full bottle of triclylic antidepressants. He may as well have given her a loaded gun, which would have been equally deadly.
She was found already dead by my other sister,Mary, who with her daughter, had come to bring her a meal, which she did every week. Mary was late this day, and still believes that her being late contributed to Jannie's death, and to this day carries that burden. I don't believe that. I believe that Jannie was not rational, and made this decision totally devoid of awareness of the consequences, and the pain it would cause her family.
About a year ago, while I was attending orientation session for hospice volunteer, we were shown a video about a young man's untimely death, and included interviews with various family members in the months following his death. I broke down and wept uncontrollably, out of proportion to the sadness of the film. Suddenly my grief for Jannie's tragic life and death came pouring out of me, and fortunately, there were compassionate counselors there who listened to my boiled-over grief. I was surprised and shocked that these feeling were still so volatile in me.
I often wonder what would have made a difference for Jannie. What if she had been in an apartment that would have allowed her to keep a small dog for company? She would have had someone of her own to love and cherish. What if my mom had still been alive? Would Jannie have taken her own life? I was relieved that neither of my parents were witness to their daughter's death; they would have been devastated.
Jannie, my sister you were, and my sister you will always be. Your last words to me were"I love you", and I thank you for that. I always felt loved by you, and I hope you felt that from me as well. Somehow, I know you and Mom are having a perpetual cup of tea up there, perhaps while knitting; all of your problems no longer existent, Dad a short distance away, possibly fishing with Old Mr Stam in that great Fishing Hole in the Sky. Who knows. All I know, is that you only did the only thing you were able to do, to get away from the psychic pain and suffering that was your life. I hope this Birthday was your happiest ever. I wish I could share with you my joy about my grandbaby, Avery. How you would have loved her. Take care, sister, until we meet again.
