Missing Ellie

Today would have been my sister Ellen's 48th birthday. She died one August day, twelve years ago, of Crohn's Disease.

According to Jewish custom, we're supposed to remember our loved ones on the anniversary of their death (their yahrzeit date). But we were on vacation when she died and I have trouble remembering the exact date. Besides, Ellie wasn't Jewish... so somehow remembering her on her birthday "works for me."

Ellie was seven years younger than I - in many ways, she was my "first child." I loved her, cared for her, changed her diaper, encouraged her to walk, taught her to say "Mama" and "Dada" -- and when the time came, took a deep breath and talked with her about the "facts of life." (One of the most awkward and uncomfortable discussions of my life! Poor Ellie, I'm sure I embarrassed her greatly!)

Her illness was a long and ugly one - we figured later she'd probably been sick for almost 20 years when she died. It deprived her of many experiences. But she was funny and clever and remarkably bright. The world is diminished by her absence.

She lived with us while I was pregnant with our second child and on total bedrest. Our son, who was two and a half at that time, loved his Aunt Ellie as only a young child can - with every fiber of his body. When our daughter was born, Aunt Ellie delighted in holding this newborn on her lap and quickly figured out how to make the baby stop crying. She never quite mastered the trick of changing diapers, though!

Some years, the remembering has been more difficult than in other years. This year, it's been hard. My mother is not well. The current economic crisis reminds me of my family's economic crisis around the time that Ellie was born, shortly after my father had lost his job. And even the weather this past week has been more typical of mid-state Wisconsin weather in late October than typical Maryland weather this time of year.

There is a reading from the Yizkor service which has always been a comfort to me.

At the rising of the sun and at its going down,
we remember them.

At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
we remember them.

At the shining of the sun and in the warmth of summer,
we remember them.

At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn,
we remember them.

At the beginning of the year and at its end,
we remember them.

As long as we live, they too will live;
for they are now a part of us,
as we remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength,
we remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart,
we remember them.

Where we have joy we crave to share,
we remember them.

When we have decisions that are difficult to make,
we remember them.

When we have achievements that are based on theirs,
we remember them.

At long as we live, they too will live;
for they are now a part of us,
as we remember them.

May her memory be for a blessing.