I have her shoes, the new white Skechers she’d packed carefully in her “wear home from the hospital” bag. There’s something not right about this.
We did not expect her death. We were ecstatic when we heard her surgery for cancer was successful. We were relieved when she transferred out of ICU, then greatly worried on her return. And we were shocked when she passed away 27 days after surgery…from complications.
She’d called me the Saturday after her Monday surgery. She knew I’d be home with the flu, and she cautioned me to take it easy and not get pneumonia. I told her, “I already have pneumonia.”
In her older-sister-by-five-year voice, she chided me. She knows I don’t always take the best care of myself, that I tend to overdo.
I’d not mailed her 80th birthday card yet, so when she got pneumonia, I sent the card and added that she’d gone a bit far in her empathy for me.
That’s the kind of relationship we had. Teasing, caring, loving.
The last few years we lived in Chicago, she came from Michigan to visit me for three days every summer. I’d take the 151 bus from Michigan and Washington by our condo to meet her at Union Station. She’d always introduce me to her Amtrak seatmate, a new friend. Each year, I planned our agenda from the time she arrived (out for breakfast first) until the afternoon on the third day when I escorted her back by bus to Union Station. Our final ritual that she insisted on was treating me for lunch at the Walnut Room in Macy’s on State: their famous chicken pot pie, followed by their yummy Frango Mint pie that we’d convince ourselves had no calories.
She didn’t want to know what I’d planned, just what clothes she needed to take along. She liked surprises. Every summer, I picked out breakfast restaurants that had become her favorites (Lou Mitchell’s, Toni’s, the Yolk, and Pittsfield), and included plays at the Goodman and Steppenwolf, concerts by the Grant Park Orchestra and Chicago Symphony, and lectures at the Art Institute.
And we walked, always logging in at least 10,000 steps on our pedometers. We started from our condo at Randolph and Michigan and walked south to the museums (1200 south), north to Water Tower Place (800 north) and east to Navy Pier (600 east). She wanted to see everything: she wanted to “walk” my life, and she had fun reporting back to her friends what her “crazy Chicago sister” had planned for her.
And she made it clear, for all this walking, that her feet liked her tennis shoes best. And that’s what is not right about this. I now have her new tennis shoes that I know she would have worn during her planned trip this summer to visit me in my new city of Sioux Falls. I’d already told her there’s not as much city walking here, but lots of nice nature trails, and that I’d started a list of things I wanted her to see. She thought she may be ready to come in June, but for sure by August.
Instead, we buried her ten days ago, on April 13.
They say you shouldn’t write about grief so soon, before processing it a bit. But I must. I’m back home, nearly 900 miles away, feeling this big void. I miss her on our daily emails. I’ll miss her spontaneous phone calls. I’ll miss her yearly visits. And I’ll miss the fun we had every two years going to the Calvin College Faith & Writing Festival in Michigan, splitting up the sessions we attended and filling each other in at night, over our drive-through Wendy’s salads, in our beds at a Comfort Inn.
I’ll even miss her big sister chiding.
I may do a memorial walk—go to the places on the list I’ve started—wearing her shoes. I will tell her how much I miss her. She will laugh and say, “For Pete’s sake, Lois. I lived to 80.”
That’s who she was. Positive. Pragmatic. Thankful for her life, her faith, her husband who died just a year ago, and her many blessings, especially her children and grandchildren.
Write Along with Me 
What a great picture of the two of you during her last visit. I will miss your stories of Esther’s visits. She seemed always enthusiastic with anything you planned for her. She was such a part of your life as sisters can be. Maybe I always valued your stories of Esther because I never had a sister and if I did have one I would wish our relationship was as warm as yours was with Esther.
Sorry she is gone.
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Thanks, Marianna. She was such a gracious guest. Always loved everything I planned. So easy to please. She’d love her city fix of high rises, honking traffic, and Lake Michigan view, and then was happy and content to go home to her own living room that looked out on a quiet open field.
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Oh my! I want to be your sister! This was such a marvelous tribute to Esther, but to “sisterhood” as well. I love my sisters too, but need to work on memory rituals to see us through the inevitable separation. Thank you Lois for the inspiration. Hugs and love to you 😘
Sent from my iPhone
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Do work on memory-making, Sandy. We are getting older even though I for one don’t want to face it. We can “look forward” to many more losses. Thanks for hugs!
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Every bit as beautiful as I anticipated, a wonderful tribute to your sister and to sisterhood.
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The first sentence, Lois, has been nagging me to write the tribute ever since I got the shoes from her daughter. Thanks. Helps to write.
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Thanks for sharing the beginning of your grief journey following your sisters death. My sympathy goes with you. The memories that you have can never be taken away from you and she will always be with you in your heart. May God surround you with His comforting arms as you mourn the loss of your sister.
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Lois, with your own loss and your work with grief groups, I know you know. Thanks.
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Hi Lois, Thank you for writing about your sister. What a wonderful relationship! I’m so sorry for your loss but hope you will be able to revisit the memories when you miss her presence. Rena
Sent from my iPad Rena Compaan
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Thanks, Rena. Such a hole. My second sister to die, plus my brother. Have only one sister, my sister-in-law, and Marv left. The realities of aging.
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So sorry for your loss, Aunt Lois. Our thoughts are with you… it must be hard, even though, for Pete’s sake, she lived to 80!
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Thanks, Mari. But our mother lived to 95!
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So very sorry. I can feel your pain in the thought that I lost my baby brother to cancer a few years ago. God bless,
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Then you know. Thanks, Mary.
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I am so sorry, Lois. Each loss leaves such a big hole in our being that I sometimes wonder if there will be anything left of us as the people we love die. And I think that writing is a wonderful way to grieve. Have your read Wolterstorff’s Lament for a Son. He grieved through writing in his journal and then published it. Very potent – I used it when I taught death, grief & loss. Keep writing – we will share your grief.
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Thanks, Pat. That’s a realistic way to think about loss-I’ve already lost my brother and another sister, and it feels like parts of me are missing. I have read W’s book, but long ago. I think he was a classmate of my brother. I’ll keep writing…
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The butterfly scars on my heart ( Mom, Dad, 2 sisters, and husband) lovingly remind me to be kind and appreciate the people still in my life. Loss is hard but teaches us many worthwhile lessons. So sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing your tribute to your sister. 🦋
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Beautifully stated, Sarah. Thank you.
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Beautiful, Mom !
Sheri
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Thanks, Sheri. I could have written so much more.
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Beautiful, Lois. It is such emptiness. I comfort myself with thoughts that she is now with her Savior and her beloved husband.
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Yes, my only comfort in life and death… those comforting words from catechism days. Thanks, Anne.
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What a wonderful gift a sister is…like none other. You 2 made quite a pair… I can imagine you together made an impression in all those special places you would go to. Thanks for sharing, and God bless you, friend!!!
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Thank you, Lois! We did have such fun together. We could laugh…and cry if the situation called for it.
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Beautifully written. we will miss her too. Shirley——————————————–
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Thanks, Shirl. All kind words help.
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That was a beautiful tribute, thank you for sharing your sister with us. My condolences to you and your family.
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Thank you, Alana. I appreciated your EKG strip/life analogy on your blog too!
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Thank you!
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What a nice blog, Julie shared the link with me. I am friends with Joel – I had the honor of being able to live with their family for one year while Joel and attended Culinary school. Mr. and Mrs. VZ were great! A lot of wonderful memories.
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Thank you, Tim. I remember Esther talking about you when you lived with them. Nice memories. Many mourn the loss of both of them.
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I am so very sorry for your loss. What a wonderful, loving post
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Thank you for your kind words. I see you are living with grief also. God be with you too.
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