One woman's history

Since this is women's history month and Saturday is International Women's Day and since I haven't brought everyone down by writing about my family lately, I'd like to give you a brief history of one woman, my oldest sister Sandy.
This is Sandy when she was a little girl, you can see how cheery and gleeful she was. I remember her from the days in Detroit when we were really young as being fun loving and always up for something, be it a trip to the store or a game of Monopoly.

She was only two years older than I am but she always seemed, for a time anyway, like she was much older and wiser than I was. I looked up to her when I was younger because she always seemed to know what to do and how to act. People liked her and I consciously tried to be like her in some ways.

She rolled with the punches when our lives got turned upside down when our Mom died and I followed her lead when we moved in with Aunt Rageaholic and Uncle Adultery, that is to say I took most of the ensuing madness in stride as much as I could, like she did, and I tried to just get along or get through each day without any undue craziness, like she did for a time. When we moved south to Jonesville, VA she was an instant hit at Jonesville High. All the guys went wild for her and she was one of the most popular girls in our high school. I almost burst with pride when she was named Homecoming Queen, it was especially nice to see her get the recognition because we were treated like second class citizens in Aunt Rageaholic's home, her kids always came first and they were praised up one side and down the other while we were barely tolerated at times.

The future seemed bright for Sandy. She was a smart beautiful woman who looked like a sure bet to go on to college and end up making a great life for herself. But soon after graduating high school something happened, something in her brain went wrong and she developed schizophrenia. She went almost over night from being vivacious, curious, and optimistic to being depressed, morose, and just plain odd.Aunt Rageaholic and her less than faithful husband were going through an acrimonious divorce and dealing with my now clearly crazy sister was the last thing they wanted to do. So they bought her a bus ticket and sent her out to my Uncle Curt's place in California. I think they hoped she'd stay out there and not come back, but they were wrong. She stayed out there for a bit but she ended up coming back east.

For the next few years she was in and out of mental hospitals and on and off of various psychotropic drugs, some of which Cousin Psycho used to steal and take so he could get high. It took quite some time but they finally found an acceptable medicine regimen for her and she attained some equilibrium, enough so that she was able to get her own place and work some part time jobs to supplement her monthly disability check.

During this time, the mid to late '80's, she put on a lot of weight due to the medication she was on and she became one of those mentally ill people who chain smoked all the time. I'll admit that I was not the best brother during this time but I did try to check on her from time to time.

She was able to keep things on a somewhat even keel for many years. She paid her rent and her bills on time. She always made friends where ever she lived and she had a couple of long term relationships, one with a woman who turned out to be abusive and one very long term platonic relationship with another mentally ill man named David with whom she lived with for many many years.

As the years went on she added more pounds to her once small body and I grew fearful that she was going to develop diabetes. And sure enough she did. Once she was diagnosed with it she would not change her lifestyle, which had come to include a high level of alcohol drinking. She also became somewhat delusional, she maintained at various times that she was the girlfriend of the guys in Queensryche and that Michael Stipe was sending her messages in his songs. Since she was living with David I was concerned about this behavior she was exhibiting but I knew that he'd keep an eye on her and he'd know when to call someone if she started to really "nut up," as she used to call it.

I have to admit that during this time I'd cringe when she'd call me because she'd start to talk nonsense about Queensryche and Michael Stipe or she'd be drunk and just want to chat about nothing. I wasn't the most patient person I could have been with her during that time and I did most anything I could to avoid seeing her or talking to her for very long if she called. I basically brushed her off because I thought she'd always be around, she was, despite being mentally ill, my big sister and she was going to live forever.

One day in January of 2004 I called my work voice mail number to check my messages. There was one from Sparky telling me to call her as soon as I could. I dropped everything and called, Sparky told me that Sandy had passed away in the night. I was about two miles from the hospital where they took her body so I drove over to see for myself. David had already identified her body for the authorities but I wanted to see for myself that it was actually my big sister. Indeed it was her, she died of a heart attack in her sleep.

In order to make her life mean something, the life that once held so much promise, I made the decision to donate any parts of her that were fit to be reused. I knew her heart was probably not going to be put into anyone and her kidneys were probably bad as well but surely there had to be something inside her that someone could benefit from. Thankfully there was, they were able to harvest some tissues and bones that were able to help others so in a way Sandy ended up making a positive difference in someones life. My cousins who Sandy and I were raised with all stayed away from her funeral but some did send plants and flowers. I've been caring for a few of those plants so in a way Sandy lives on through them as well.