My Sister Helen

When the jonquils bloom in the spring, I think of her–my sister Helen. Maybe it’s because of her March birthday or that, like the flowers, my sister was cheerful and welcoming.

Helen was a person who made the world better and brighter, simply by being there. If someone had a problem, she did her best to fix it. She believed that praise, not criticism, worked wonders.  Her children, her home, her family, were always first with her. 

She was a talented writer of poetry and prose. Some of her poems were humorous; some were thoughtful. She wrote a super rhymed story of the Lord’s twelve Apostles. I treasure that poem, in her own handwriting.

We had a lot of fun together. When she and Ray and the children came to Mom’s to visit, it was a busy, happy time. Washing dishes was, believe it or not, a pretty neat chore. She’d wash; I’d dry, and they were done. We talked and giggled all the way through. No time to be unhappy, no time to be wasting when Helen was around. 

As those of you from or in Texas know, there’s a time in the spring when bluebells bloom. Helen and I took a brief trip through part of the state to admire those lovely flowers and a few old, historic-looking houses we saw from the highway. One house in particular caught our attention. Who had lived there? What did the inside look like? Why would someone just move away and leave a lovely house like this? We decided to stop and investigate further.

Pulling into the driveway, we got out of the car, and hurried onto the porch. The window in the door was clouded. We peered through and two eyes peered back at us. Retreat was in order. We backed up and jumped into the car. Lesson learned: some houses that look vacant, aren’t.

She had a lively sense of humor and an infectious laugh. When we couldn’t get together, we talked on the phone and wrote letters. I still have a special letter or two that she wrote, and lots of birthday cards.

When Mom died, we were like lost children and Helen said, “We’ll remember the good times.” Well, Sis, now you’re gone and I’m still here but I’ll re-read the verse on one of your birthday cards, “It’s nice to have a sister who is just the perfect blend of a warm and loving person and a very special friend!”  That was you, Sis, and I’m so grateful for those good times.

She was dignified; she was fun. She was a practical person and also a dreamer. I grew up thinking she was pretty much always right. My opinion hasn’t changed. If we could sit down today for a cup of coffee and a chat, I’d tell her how privileged I was to have her as my sister.

Today is far from Childhood —
But up and down the hills
I held her hand the tighter —
Which shortened all the miles –

Emily Dickinson