"My heart just wasn't in the holidays at all"

(This post is part of a larger project. Read about its beginning here.)

When my mother told me my sister Louise wasn’t well enough to come to Virginia for Thanksgiving, I vowed to find a way to be with her instead. I was a college student and didn't have a car, so I stood up at church during the service and asked if anyone could give me a ride to New Jersey. After the service, two or three people offered to help me.

I’m ashamed I don’t remember the name of the family that turned out to be the answer to my prayers, but I have never forgotten their kindness. They packed me and my suitcase into their overcrowded car for the trip north, wedged in the back with their two children. They were warm and welcoming but blessed me by not asking too many questions about my sister's cancer. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts.

When I finally made it to Sis's home, I was utterly shocked. Nothing had prepared me for her appearance and condition. She looked like she’d stepped out of a concentration camp, her skin ashen, her face skeletal and misshapen, her head covered with tufts of fine hair that she usually hid under a wig, her remaining eye unfocused and unsettled in her eye socket.

She could still walk and get around a bit, but she could never stay comfortable for long. The cancer was in her spine and the pain was always with her.

I didn’t know what to do or what to say. At 19, I was too young to know the rituals of the sick and dying; I felt ill equipped to face the magnitude of her suffering and loss. Mercifully the years have erased some of the most painful memories, though the ones that remain haunt me.

While I was in New Jersey, my mother celebrated Thanksgiving with the family on the farm in Virginia. December must have been a blur for her, as she didn't write me any letters.

Then it was Christmas. I know my brother Steve went up to New Jersey--did she and my father go too? I have no memory of where I was or what I did. Did I go to Oklahoma to be with Eric? Or did we spend Christmas with his family in Florida? Or did I spend Christmas in Virginia with my family? I don't know.

My next letter from my mother is dated January 20th. I must have thanked her again for my Christmas gifts:

I'm glad you liked all your gifts Veronica--I tried to do my best--my heart just wasn't in the holidays at all. I hope you like your birthday gift--it's not very practical but I thought it was so feminine...We've had absolutely miserable weather--extremely cold again--yesterday freezing rain all day--the sun is out today but more freezing rain tonight and tomorrow. Can't believe it--just hope it clears u for the weekend--We must get up to see Sis---

Must close--take care of yourself Veronica--be careful running that you don't slip and fall--also wearing those boots [my cowboy boots]--be careful--Our love to Vicky--We love you too Veronica--

Love always,

Mom + Dad

Then on January 26:

I tried calling you Sun. night after 11:00 but the line was busy so I gave up and went to bed--dad and I were so tired after that week-end trip. the weather was just awful. When we left Friday afternoon it was snowing and all the way up on and off it snowed. Tom [my oldest brother] did all the driving. . We arrived at Sis's at 2:15 a.m [Saturday morning] + got home here around 5:00 Sun. Our driveway was a sheet of ice. Tom put the chains on his van and drove me to the door--it was awful--at least the suns out today and I hope it melts a little--had more snow on it yesterday.

Sis is really slipping fast--it was just so sad Veronica--She mentioned your name several times and I told her you were back in school and told her about your grades. We sat with her as much as we could--Her sight is completely gone and she is very weak. All we can do is pray for her. It is a devastating disease.

Even in the aftermath of what was a heart-rending visit to my sister, she cares enough about me to once again warn me about not slipping on all the ice. She closed her letter, which was tucked in a card, with a birthday wish:

Have a nice birthday Veronica. I'll try and call you this weekend again. God bless you--dad and I love you--

Love,

Mom

My birthday was four days later, falling on a Saturday, and I managed to get a ride home from college for the weekend.

Saturday morning. I remember going running. My parents waving to me as they passed me in the car. Later, I was back at the house when the phone rang. I answered it. It was Sis's husband, Jim, calling to tell us she had died.

I don't remember my own reaction as vividly as I remember my mother's. She screamed like a banshee, like her heart had been ripped out of her chest, like she'd received a tremendous shock. Now that I'm a mother, I know her heart had indeed been torn from her chest and that up until the moment Sis died, my mother was still clinging to hope for a miracle. I remember my father taking her in his arms while she wailed in the kitchen. I also remember the men in the family sitting around the kitchen table drinking whiskey in the late afternoon, and later that night, we ate my birthday cake.  

To this day, I'm stunned by the cruelty of this twist of fate: my parents lost their oldest daughter on their youngest daughter's birthday. 

A family pulled together and apart

Copyright 2013 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. Do not cut, copy, paste.In late October, after two months of helping my siblings with their new babies, my mother and father planned a trip to New Jersey to spend time with my sister, Louise (a.k.a. Sis), who was battling cancer. My family had scattered up and down the East Coast in the years since Sis's diagnosis and none of us lived close to her at this critical time.

My parents lived in Virginia, along with my brothers Tom [father of four] and Steve [a graduate student]. My sister Mary Jane her family were living in Maine. My sister Eileen was at home in Georgia with her husband and newborn son. I was at college in Virginia, about 3 hours away from my parents.

Looks like we'll be leaving for Sis's late Friday night. Tom is coming up with us. He + dad will come back home Sun. afternoon. I'll stay for awhile. When I leave MaryJane will come down so she'll always have someone there.

Sunday night she wrote:

Well here I am at Sissy's. We arrived here yesterday morning (Sat.) after driving all night. Dad + Tom left for Virginia this morning--they should be arriving home shortly and I'm sure they'll call--

Veronica--I'll tell you--Sis has lost so much weight and is so weak. I think the fact that she's been in bed so long would make her weak too. She's had so many problems with her mouth that it's so hard for her to eat even after food has been blended. With the help of God it should get better. She did get a lot of liquids today and had some ice cream etc.--we'll see how she does tomorrow...I don't know how long I'll be here. I am hoping to get home for Thanksgiving--We'll see--I'm so sorry that I won't see Eric but it's so important for me to be here. She is just so happy to have me here.

On Tuesday:

We are doing okay here. Sis has good and bad days. Last night around 11:00 she got a throw-up + diarrhea virus--just can't believe it--she felt so sick but seems to be better this morning--she is still in bed. This Friday she goes in for her chemo treatment. Will have to stay in overnight--all we can do is pray--it's just so sad.

I cannot tell you how happy she was to get your letter and the beautiful flowers. It made her so happy. The flowers are the most beautiful bouquet she ever received--carnations and roses--even Jimmy said it.

Wednesday:

A real quick note. I'm sitting here waiting for Sis to come down to breakfast. Thank God she is feeling a little stronger but is still so weak. All the medications and treatment have really taken their toll. Yesterday was a beautiful day so I did get her outside a bit. We must all keep praying for her. I'm so happy I'm here with her. Her days would be so long being here alone because her vision is blurry and she is unable to read or crochet so it really makes it hard. If she is well enough they are hoping to take me home the week-end before Thanksgving so we'll all be together. Between MaryJane + I we are going to try and be with her this winter--we'll take turns--MaryJane has the children and I know it's hard for her. We'll see.

Meanwhile, back in Virginia, I was ironing out wedding details. In the pre-Internet age, everything was done in person, not online, not over the phone. Eric had come up for a visit from Oklahoma, and we'd reserved space for the wedding reception, talked to a caterer, ordered a cake and flowers. It should have been a happy time; instead, it felt unreal.

With Sis being so sick, all the things that had once been so important to me felt insignificant. I was planning my future while she was struggling to get through each day. What was I doing? What did any of it mean?

I felt vulnerable and sought strength and comfort in Christian organizations on campus and the small church I was attending. I read the Bible and prayed daily. I tried to come to terms with my sister's cancer as some of the evangelicals I spent time with me spoke to me of faith-based miracles and healings. What did I believe?

Trying to reconcile born-again theology with the Catholic teachings of my childhood and the reality of what was happening in front of my eyes kept me awake at night. Faith and Doubt and Hope kept watch with me in my dark hours. Joy was often squelched by latent feelings of guilt. How could I enjoy anything while Sis enjoyed nothing?

I dealt with the stress by throwing myself into my academic work and my running. That fall, I often ran ten miles a day, and I developed an unhealthy preoccupation with my weight. I was 5 feet 7.5 inches tall and my normal weight during my teen years was 120-125 pounds. I was naturally thin, with the long arms and legs of a distance runner, but despite this, I began counting calories and weighing myself daily, trying to get thinner.

Looking back on that time now, I think some of the same characteristics that made me push myself academically and athletically made me vulnerable to the subculture of weight obsession that existed on campus. The perfect weight became another thing to chase, like a perfect test score, a 4.0 GPA, or a first place finish. Those goals and accomplishments made my life feel more solid than it really was and were a diversion from the complexities of faith and theology and the rawness of my pain. Maybe there was also an element of penitence at work too, a subconscious belief that denying myself food would add weight to my prayers for healing. Or a feeling that if I made myself suffer in small ways, I would lessen the gap between my life and Sis's.

Regardless of my motivations, my mother, writing from Sis's house in New Jersey, was concerned about all the ways I restricted my food intake and choices:

I hope you're doing okay--How did you do in your exams? I hope you are eating good--don't forget you need protein--like meat, cheese + eggs--it's important to eat balanced meals.

And later:

I spoke to Dad yesterday. He seems to be doing okay even tho I know he has a lot of work to do and I feel bad that I am not there to help him. It was really nice of Eric to help him. He told me all the good food he cooked over the week-end. I hope you ate some Veronica--I'm sure Eric enjoyed it--speaking of food Veronica, please eat well. I get concerned about that diet of yours--don't skip meals--I wouldn't want you to get sick.

My poor mother. She shouldn't have had to worry about me on top of everything else, but she did. She was looking out for me, was I looking out for her?

Everyone in my family was struggling with the desire to be present for my sister, present for each other, and present in their own lives/families. Life was moving fast, joy and sorrow pulling us in opposing directions, stretching us thin.

At 19, I had never grappled with so many life-changing events and Big Issues at once. I wasn't sure where I belonged--with my sister in New Jersey? at college in Virginia? with my parents and brothers on the farm? with Eric in Oklahoma?

I wanted to believe God had a plan for me, that I would be able to discern His will, that everything would work out for the good. I wanted to let go of a worldly perspective and focus on a heavenly one, to be still, to practice acceptance, to let go of my expectations and trust God. Sometimes I found peace and sometimes peace found me. However, despite my faith, I often felt that no matter where I was, I should be somewhere else. No matter what I did, it wasn't enough.  

(This post is part of a series and larger project. Read about its beginning here.)

New babies, wedding plans, and a sad postscript

mom and baby james

My mother was busy in September, helping out with her first grandsons: my nephew Joe, born to my sister in Atlanta in late August, and now James, born to my brother and his wife in late September. My brother Tom and his wife and three daughters lived in a house on the back side of our family's farm and saw my parents daily. They were surprised and excited to welcome a boy into the family after three girls. From  her letter of September 30, 1981:

We're all sitting on cloud 9 since that new grandson arrived--you should see him Veronica--He is so big--We went to visit Darcy last night and I held the baby--he is beautiful--certainly doesn't look like an infant. He has a real chubby face--double chin and beautiful brown hair--9 lbs 3 oz and 22 1/2 in. long--the largest baby in the nursery. Darcy hopes to get home Thursday.

 My semester was rolling along and fall break was coming.

Can't wait for you to get home--incidentally, how are you getting home?? We'll have so much to talk about and discuss but I'm sure you and Eric have the wedding planned. We'll talk about it when you get home.

The wedding was five months away. I know it's not uncommon for brides to spend a year or more preparing for their weddings--from the wedding dress and bridesmaid attire to the venue and ceremony, guest lists and invitations, food and music, guest accommodations, flowers and decorations and all the personal touches.

I was not one of those brides.

If I hadn't wanted a religious ceremony in a church, I probably would have eloped. All my siblings had had big weddings, and yes, they had been fun. But for me, the ceremony was important, the rest of the wedding hoopla was not. In the end, I made nearly all the decisions and arrangements for my wedding in a weekend. My goals was to keep it small and keep it simple. That was a reflection of who I was and the circumstances I was facing at the time.

My sister Louise (aka Sis) was battling cancer and as a result, much of what was going on in my life seemed superficial in comparison. My relationships with my family, my closest friends, and Eric mattered to me. Everything else fell away.

In the September 30 letter that focused on my new nephew, my wedding, and the farm, there was a sad disjointed postscript:

I know Veronica that you do write to Sis--but keep writing often--she just isn't doing too well--even if it's just cards + a few lines.  Dad + I are planning to go up the end of this month--She is a little better then she had been--that chemo therapy really wiped her out. She is off it right now.

Reading it now, I realize my mother was telling me my sister was dying. I remember getting this letter at college and immediately walking off campus and heading downtown in search of a florist. Despite my scant financial resources, I wanted to send Louise flowers.

She had sinus cancer and the initial surgery to treat it had cost her an eye, half her upper teeth, and part of her palate. As the cancer progressed, she began losing vision in her remaining eye.

As I placed my order, I explained to the florist that my sister was partially blind, so I wanted the flower arrangement to be bold and colorful, to take advantage of whatever she could still see. I also requested that the flowers be fragrant, so that if she couldn't see them, she could at least smell them.

Later, I remember talking to Eric on the phone, crying hard while telling him about the flowers, about how I asked that they smell wonderful. How could I forget, I sobbed. How could I forget that Louise couldn't smell anything? That losing her sense of smell (and taste) had been one of the first brutal effects of her cancer.

It was all too much to bear. More than anything, I wanted to do something kind for my sister, make some small difference in her day. I couldn't even send her flowers or chocolates or do anything but write her letters saying, "I'm thinking of you. I care. I am so sorry this is happening."

(This post is part of a series and larger project. Read about its beginning here.)

And then it was September and I was back at college

My mother's letter on August 5 asked me for all the information about my flight home from Oklahoma to Virginia and when exactly I was starting classes. Her next letter was written on September 1, arrived in my college mailbox, postmarked from Atlanta, where my sister Eileen lived with her husband Joe. Her first baby had arrived on August 21:

The baby is really cute--very light but looks just like Joe--he is a good baby--Eileen is feeling better with each passing day--baby must be fed every 3 hrs. so she does have to rest while he is sleeping. We haven't decided when we'll go home--we'll see. It is a long ride--took 11 1/2 hrs. but mostly inter-state so wasn't too bad.

It was my parents' first visit to Georgia. Eileen and Joe had moved there in the spring, and my mother loved their big brick colonial house, surrounded by trees.

September 15:

We really had a great time at Eileen's--it was a real vacation for us--Their home is just beautiful and the baby is so cute--wait till you see him--

We never went on vacations when I was a kid. Ever. My parents always loved visiting my various sisters, who lived in Maine, New Jersey, and Atlanta. When they were home, they worked hard on the farm and the house from the time they got up until after dinner.  When my parents went to visit my older siblings, it was a luxury to wake up and not face an endless list of chores. Plus all of my sisters and their husbands went out of their way to make my parents' visits something special. They liked to spoil them and treat them to foods, conveniences, and small luxuries that my parents had spent their whole lives living without.

My sisters often spoiled me too. I was the "baby" in the family, and they all looked after me in their own ways. When I was teenager, this often translated into giving me clothes--sometimes hand-me-downs, sometimes brand new items they found on sale. My sisters shopped at Macy's and New York department stores and bought things that were better quality and more fashionable than what I normally had in my closet. Their generosity and good taste meant I always had some outfits to feel good about. Even as Eileen recovered from giving birth and adjusted to motherhood, she still was looking out for me:

Besides the two skirts, she also sent you a couple of blouses--also a box of household odds + ends--some dishes, serving bowls, pictures, etc--I'm sure you'll be able to use them.

Meanwhile, my parents were helping my brother Stephen, who had just moved out of the house and started graduate school at the University of Virginia:

We were happy to have Stephen home this past week-end--dad gave him a box of fresh vegetables which I'm sure they [Steve and his roommates] can use--He also did their laundry here--that saved them about $6--don't know if he told you but he did get a job in the law library--I'm glad because he sure can use the money. 

My mother had other good news to share. She and my father had a new car. Emphasis on new because I believe this was the first new car my parents had ever owned. In their 35+ years together, they had always bought used cars and driven them until they couldn't be driven anymore. After years of driving a banged up Ford Maverick with a broken door, dents, and lots of rust, my folks finally had a reliable, attractive car--a Ford Escort wagon.

Dad + I are so happy with the new car--It is such a pleasure riding in it--made a big difference on our trip to Georgia. He kept track of the mileage and got 35 mi. per gal. of gas which is great--

All the good news in this letter was shadowed by the dark cloud we couldn't escape--my sister Louise's battle with sinus cancer. My mother closed her letter with this:

please pray for Sis and write to her often--she is having problems with the irritation in her mouth again--she is in a lot of pain--

The "irritation" in her mouth were ulcerations brought on by chemotherapy and maybe the cancer itself. If you've ever marvelled over how a single canker sore or injury in your mouth can cause so much misery, imagine that pain magnifed many times over.

I wrote to Louise often and she wrote to me. I have every letter she ever sent me in a wicker hamper in my bedroom. I have never re-read them. One day soon I'll find the courage to unfold those sheets of stationery, read my sister's words, remember her life and advice, and hear her voice again.

(This post is part of a series and larger project. Read about its beginning here.)

Remembering life in the early 1980s

The letters I'm reading now are from the early 1980s and contain so many reminders of what life was like in the "old days," before personal computers, the Internet, cell phones, and voice mail changed everything.

My mom was trying to schedule a dentist appointment for me and had so much difficulty:

I called Dr. Caporal and there was no answer--finally yesterday I called again and a girl who was doing some work in the office said he is on vacation. She gave me the home no. of the receptionist and I tried calling her but no answer--I'll keep trying.

This was the business world in the Reagan administration. It's easy to forget that I came of age in a world without answering machines or voice mail, where calls didn't get forwarded or roll over onto another line, where pre-recorded messages weren't left when someone was out of the office.

My mother had to make multiple phone calls to get my appointment set up. It took days. Hard to believe, isn't it?

This was also back when AT&T had a monopoly on long distance phone service. Long distance phone calls were a significant expense, and so budget-minded folks and even the middle class limited their long distance calling and the time spent on the call.

I'm sorry I couldn't talk to you longer on the phone but Stephen [my brother] had been on so long and I didn't want to run that bill up because it does add up fast--

(I remember when I was in my 20s and living far from home, I called home once a week and once a month I'd treat myself to a long distance call to a friend or one of my siblings. Once a month!)

In July 1981, I was getting ready to return to college in late August, and my semester fees were due:

We received your tuition bill. Please send me a check for $842 as soon as you receive this letter. If not pd on time there is a late fee of $75-

$842 for a semester's tuition to a state university? Wow.

As I write this, I'm bracing myself for the cost of sending my son to a state school. Tuition is about $7,000 a year, $3,500/semester. Maybe years from now my son will read that number and be shocked how low it is. Right now the cost of college feels somewhat overwhelming.

I paid most of my own college costs, but my mother had been shopping the sales for notebooks, pens, and paper and helping me get ready for school: 

Wards have their running shoes on sale--$17 ones for $10 so I'm going to get you a pair.

I was a big distance runner at the time, and today my daughter is one. I won't tell you how much her running shoes cost. I can't even wrap my brain around my mother getting me running shoes for $17 or $10.

On my supply list was a typewriter, a surprisingly big ticket item that my older sister was going to try and help me with:

I had mentioned to Sis that you needed a typewriter and asked her to price them thru Jim's catalogue [her husband's office supply catalog]. She called last night--the electric ones cost almost $500--with his [corporate] discount it would come to about $247 which is a lot of money. They have a good manual portable one that they'll give to you free--I would take it--it would do the job.

$500 for an electric typewriter? Really? I guess electric typewriters in the early 80s were like Macbooks today.

I did end up taking the free manual typewriter from Sis and Jim, and still remember the misery of using it. Today, I type every day, all the time. Back then I only typed when I had a paper due, and I was not a skilled typist.

Plus, the keys were heavy, sticky, and slow. Every mistake required the neat and careful application of Wite-Out correction fluid, the repositioning of the paper, and re-typing when the Wite-Out was dry. The carriage had to be manually returned after you figured out which word would be the last one that would fit on the line. Centering titles and page numbers required making calculations and was done manually, based on the number of keystrokes and whether you were typing in "pica" or "elite." Superscripts, footnotes, and endnotes were so much work. Calculating margins and page breaks was hard. Then there was changing the ribbon...I detested everything about typing on a typewriter.

When I finally got an electric typewriter (with a built-in correction ribbon!), I was so excited. And when I first used a personal computer with word processing software, it changed my life. It was so easy to write, correct, edit, revise! There was no excuse for poor writing (or typing) once the PC came along, and the first time I hit print and saw my work emerge flawlessly from the printer across the room, it was MAGIC. I still remember that sense of exhilaration.

Today I take so much of this for granted. I'll hit "publish" on this post and it will be available instantaneously all over the world, and my mother's words, written more than 30 years ago with a Bic pen on paper stationery will be available globally.

I wonder what she'd think of that! 

(This post is part of a series and larger project. Read about its beginning here.)