That Day

On a crystalline blue, blistering hot Saturday summer evening 22 years ago, my older sister was killed in an alcohol related car accident on I-15. She was on her way to Lagoon with some friends when the very young and very inexperienced driver came up on some traffic that had slowed down because of construction.

Go figure. Construction on I-15 in the summer time? Some things never change.

The young driver was only going about 55 MPH, but like the others in the car, she had been sipping rum and Coke. She slammed on her brakes, started to skid and spin, then over-corrected. 

At some point, Carolyn was ejected through the windshield of the car, even though she had been sitting in the back seat, without a seat belt of course. Seat belts would not have helped much in this case. In fact, if the girls had been wearing seat belts, all four of them most likely would have died. As it is, two of them died - my sister and the driver - and two others who were ejected before the car hit the semi survived - barely.

Thinking back on this, a wry smile steals across my face. No, not about the death and dying part, but the part about where she was sitting when the accident happened.

If Carolyn was ever in the back seat, she always wiggled her way into the middle and leaned forward onto the front seats so she could talk to whomever was up front. Not safe nor smart, but that's just how she was, always wanting to talk, to be engaged in life and whatever was happening up front.

The back seat and back of the line was never good enough for her.

She was determined to not miss a single moment of life. I can only imagine she was smiling and laughing with that infectious laugh of hers when she was launched into eternity, eagerly leaning forward between the front seats.

Even though she was killed at about 5:00 p.m. that evening, we didn't find out about the accident until later that evening. She had been carrying fake ID (had she been the one who bought the rum?) and so the police had a hard time identifying her and locating her next of kin. It didn't help that her body...well, let's just say there was no visual ID made. They only asked for identifying marks below the shoulders to ID her.

I found out she had died when I returned home from spending time with my friends.

I pulled up at around 11:30 pm, my 17-year old avocado green 1972 Buick Electra rolling in like a tank. Nearly every house on the street had lights on. Every light in my house was on. My parent's car was gone. I could see someone vacuuming the living room through the plate glass window.  Neighbors were standing on their porches.

Something was dreadfully wrong. 

As I got out of my car and heaved the massive door shut, one of the twin brothers who were two years younger than me came running out of the house like an prison escapee. It took me several minutes to register what he was yelling at me.

Carolyn was dead. 

Within a few days, we would be having a closed-casket funeral for her. My best friend would be gone and my whole world would start to unravel at the seams, wildly spinning out of control for years to come.

But at 11:00 a.m. that Saturday morning - that morning -  all was well when I stopped by College Terrace where my sister lived to visit a friend.

I saw Carolyn getting into her brown station wagon. I leaned over the balcony as far as I could to get her attention yelling, "Carolyn, Carolyn, CAROLYN!!! I love you!!!"

She looked up, flashed a huge grin, threw both arms over her head like an Olympic gymnast and yelled as loudly as possible, "I love you too, Munna!"

Munna. That was her pet nickname for me because she was in too big of a hurry to say all the syllables and consonants in my name. It was the last thing she would ever say to me.

Looking back, I can remember how she winced in the bright sunlight and was a bit unsteady on her feet. I now know it was because of the alcohol she had been consuming.  There were so many things I didn't know about her, but I knew the important things.

She was a devoted sister. She would have moved heaven and earth for me. She was fiercely loyal to me.

She loved me.

That's all I needed to know.

The Day Before That Day

When I needed a summer job between my junior and senior year of high school in 1989, my big sister helped me land one at the photography studio and film lab where she had been working for the past year.  Our summer hours were so very normal, especially for a high school girl like myself. 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Monday through Friday with an hour off for lunch.

The Friday before the accident, the day before that day, we had gone to Arby’s for lunch, the two of us in her car with no air conditioning. We pulled up to the drive-thru to order while Bob Marley’s “Buffalo Soldiers” blared on the radio and the heat of late August radiated through the floorboards. 

I don’t remember exactly what we ordered, but I remember we both got turnovers. She got apple and I got cherry. Every since that day,  I can’t eat one of those without thinking of her, belting out Bob at the top of her lungs as we cruised along University Avenue. 

“If you know your history, then you would know where you are coming from, Then you wouldn’t have to ask me, Who the ‘eck do I think I am.”

As we ate in the break room back at the studio, we chatted.  It was just sister-talk; you know, easy banter about boys and college and had I seen "Weekend at Bernies" at the dollar theater yet?  

Then, as she finished her apple turnover, she grew serious and still. 

This was so very unlike her – she was always moving. She was a sliver of light that weaved and bobbed through shimmering aspen trees, not a contemplative alpine glow that stretched across the valley. 

“Munna (her pet name for me), do you think it is weird that Mom has twelve kids and not one of us has ever had a major injury or illness? I mean, no one has even broken a bone!” She leaned into the word twelve, her voice lingering over the vowels. 

Her voice dipped and her blue eyes clouded when she asked, “Who do you think will be the first of us to die?" 

There was a long pause. At 16-years old, death was a stranger to me. That happened to old people or really sick people, not one of us.

She let out a sigh, gathered up the left over bits and pieces of lunch, and then said resolutely, "I am pretty sure it will be me and when I die, I want Stairway to Heaven played at my funeral. Promise me you will make that happen." 

Whatever storm had settled in her thoughts for those few moments was gone.  She flashed me a huge mischievous grin and said, "Mom will never let that happen, but wouldn't that be awesome?" Then, in her voice that was always off-key, she sang: 

"There's a feeling I get when I look to the west and my spirit is crying for leaving...Oh it makes me wonder. "

We laughed at her inability to carry a tune. I promised her I would make sure they played Led Zeppelin and nothing else at her imaginary, in the future funeral, and then we went back to work.  

At about 4:30 p.m., she came up from the film processing lab to tell me she was headed out a bit early to go camping with some friends and she would see me on Monday.

She left, trailing Bob Marley lyrics behind her as she exited the front door, letting it slam behind her, 

Looking up from the paperwork in front of me, I watched her walk in front of the long plate glass windows at the front of the reception area, her blonde chin length hair swinging and flashing in the summer sun. She danced down the sidewalk and sang out to the passing cars,

“Fighting on arrival, fighting for survival.” 

She turned the corner and then she was gone.

Happy 40th Birthday, Carolyn!

 My older sister would have been 40 today but instead, she remains an eternal 18 years old.

I cannot imagine what she would have been like at 40. Frankly, I do not know how we could have survived her molten presence for that long in our lives. (Said as I smile. She was certainly a firebrand and destined for things far greater than this ordinary and temporary mortal existence).

While I cannot imagine it, I wish I could have found out what she would have been like at 40, surrounded by children as full of sparks and fire as she, children who inherited her charming dimples and gold-flecked eyes. I would have loved to see her as a mother.

One night when we were in our early teen years there was a huge storm. Thunder and lightening and driving rain pounded our house there in north Orem for what seemed like hours. Neither of us could sleep. In the early hours of the morning, it seemed as if the world split apart when lightening struck our neighbor's house. I was terrified and started crying. Carolyn, being the big sister/protector, jumped into my bed next to me. We then lay side by side, her warm body pressed against my shaking one talking and giggling until I fell asleep.

I think she would have been the same kind of mother - a fierce protector of those she loved. Devoted.  Willing to comfort those in need of comfort. And always ready with a story or a joke to help you deal with your fears.

Gosh, I miss her.

And if she would have been 40 today then that makes me...old.

Happy Birthday, Carolyn!

Today would have been my sister's 39th birthday had she stuck around long enough here on earth. Unfortunately, when she was 18 years, 6 months and 23 days old she went through a windshield of a car and ended up on the other side of eternity. But you know what? I think that is exactly what she would have wanted her ending here to be like.  She left this earthly life just as she lived it: a white-hot shooting star trailing spit-fire and sparks, hell bent on rocking the boat, challenging the status quo, and never ever taking the easy, quiet path.

I was just 20 months younger than her and we grew up sharing bath time (that's me on the right - I sure was cute, wasn't I?), bedrooms, toys, clothes, fights, and friends. As we got older, we continued to share our bedroom, clothes, fights, and friends, but upped the ante with cars, lockers at school, and jobs. When she died the Saturday before my senior year began...it was like losing a limb. I was exactly two months shy of turning 17 and I hardly knew how to function. Living without her constant, daily big-sister presence in my life was like trying to learn how to walk again.

She was quite the big sister to have and perfectly suited for the role. (That's me and her in the picture above on Christmas morning 1977 when we were living on Guam.  I didn't crop my little brother from the photo because (a) he's just so gosh darn adorable! and (b)  he's one of my favorite brothers.) There was something magical about her; everyone that met her adored her. She had a special tenderness for the elderly and was a fierce protector of the disabled. When she was angry, the gold flecks in her crystalline blue eyes would deepen to a dark amber. When she was happy, it was like basking in the warmth of a full sun in the spring.

Speaking of the spring, whenever the snows there on the mountains in Utah Valley would finally start to melt, we would forge a note from our mom (sorry Mom) and skip school (sorry again Mom) so we could head for the foot hills.  (That's her at her high school graduation, exactly three months before she died in the car accident. If I could just pan to the left a bit in the photo, I could actually point out the spot on the mountain where we spent much of our school-skipping time). Finding our favorite secluded spot, we would shed our winter clothes for the swim suits underneath and climb up on the hood of the car and soak in the newness of the season. Those were good times. Good times indeed.

 

She had an impish grin, cavernous dimples and a quick-silver temperament. Above all though, she loved each and every one of her siblings - all eleven of us - with a fierce loyalty that I have yet to ever find equaled in another person (that's her above with Elly, baby #8).  She was always our protector and our champion. It wasn't our big brothers who came to the rescue when the neighborhood bully would start picking on us - it was her. It was always her. Scrappy and bird-thin as she was, she always kicked the dog-snot out of anyone giving her siblings grief.

She was the third of twelve children that came in quick succession and the oldest daughter. Watching out for us was a full-time gig.   (That's her and Ang, baby #9.  My mom was raised Catholic and then joined the LDS church. There was never any hope that our family would be small.)  Aside from keeping us from getting beat up by the meanies in the neighborhood, her chief role was to entertain and instigate.  While I was the quiet, studious, obedient daughter, she was the one who was always finding new ways to make us laugh and more elaborate plans to get us into trouble with the parents.  While I was the voice of caution and prudence, hers was the voice urging us to throw off the bow-lines and explore uncharted territory.

 

She was magnificent. 

So today, I wish my big sister a happy birthday, where ever she might be.