Early one morning, my mother pulled up into my sister's driveway.  The three of us, along with my sister's daughter, were heading to Las Cruces for the hot-air balloon festival.

There on the front lawn was a pile of clothes.  Half smiling, I eased out of the car, thinking this was one of my sister's jokes.  As I neared the door, which was ajar, I heard yelling and tearful responses.

What started the day on such bright promise ended with a police officer escorting my sister to her home to retrieve her clothes and other necessities. 

Her daughter, three years old at the time, consoled her mother in the back seat of the car.  "It'll be all right, Mama.  It'll be all right."

With each relationship’s passing, I worried about all the faulty wiring in these men, not appreciating my sister.  What was wrong with them?  How could they be so blind to all that she had to offer?  Nevertheless, I greeted each man in her life with open arms, hoping he was going to be the one for her.  I never stopped hoping.

When I was a college student living with my parents, she had come home, three months pregnant and separated from her husband.  Even though surrounded by family, hers was a lonely pregnancy, lackluster, joyless.  The week her daughter was born, her divorce became final.

She struggled.  As a single parent, she struggled to find a father for her daughter.  To find decent used cars.  To put food on the table.  I stole canned goods from my parents' pantry to give to her, which she accepted gratefully (sorry, Mom and Dad!).  She finished business school and began earning a trade as a bookkeeper.

I noticed she didn't smile much anymore.  The light fled her eyes, leaving behind a haunted look.

I remember when laughter came easily to my sister.  Before the dark little cloud began trailing after her like Murphy's Law.

Saturday mornings meant halting chores long enough to practice the latest dance moves demonstrated on American Bandstand.

She made killer tuna fish sandwiches, and she taught me to iron so she could snuggle with her high school beau on the front stoop.

While coating her eyelashes with mascara, she harmonized with the song "Dancing Queen" on the clock-radio cranked up high every morning before school.

I elbowed her during movies to interpret for me.  She was my hearing aid.  My hearing-ear sister, I liked to say.

My sister instigated fun treasure hunts, one of the most memorable occurring on her thirtieth birthday in which part of the list demanded tracking down a couple of high school students and hauling them back to the party.  And we succeeded doing just that.

She was the first one who thought I was funny, laughing 'til her sides split over my silly pirouettes.

When I was struggling through years of infertility, she offered to carry a baby for me.

My sister is going blind.

Juvenile glaucoma has been stealing her sight away slowly over the years in spite of numerous operations.  I am her seeing-eye sister now.  I understand living with a disability, and now it's my turn to help her through this.  I interpret signs for her and automatically extend my elbow when necessary.  She has less than one percent vision left in her eyes, and it's possible she may never have the joy of setting eyes on her grandchildren.

Pretty ironic for someone who used to volunteer reading for individuals with blindness.

One night my sister and I went to a concert with our folks.  During intermission, we stood in the long line outside the powder room, and once in, I quickly removed my contact lenses.  They had been bothering me all evening.

When we returned to the entrance of the auditorium, we both squinted, trying to see which row our parents were in.

We epitomized that classic line.  We were the blind leading the blind.

I saw a flurry of motion in the dim light.  My parents waving at us.  We giggled the whole way back to our seats, her hand lightly touching my elbow.

“I know why people fall in love with one another,” my seven-year-old announced to me the other day out of the blue.

“Why, Cody?”

“Because you’re handsome and you’re nice and you do thoughtful things for each other.”

Okay, so he had repeated verbatim my answer to him a few months back when he asked why I fell in love with Daddy.

My sister has at long last found a man who's handsome and nice and does thoughtful things for her.  Never mind that she found him while her daughter was halfway through high school.  These days, in spite of her disability, she finds it easy to laugh.  The light is back in her eyes.

Cody's statement reminded me, too, why I loved my sister.

Kim, this one's for you.

Jennifer Oliver
[email protected]
Copyright © 2002 by Jennifer Oliver. All rights reserved.
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Find out how Roger Dean Kiser, Sr., is using his life to spell
success for orphans coast to coast!  He's started the Sad Orphan
Foundation in hopes that other orphans may experience kindness.  As
Roger said, it was acts of kindness, however small, that saved him. 
For more information, please visit Roger's web site at
http://www.geocities.com/thesadorphanfoundation.  You may send your
check or money order to:

THE SAD ORPHAN FOUNDATION
c/o Author, Roger Dean Kiser, Sr.
100 Northridge Drive
Brunswick, Georgia 31525

Or click on his website and donate using your credit card using
PayPal!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Find out how you can help Brittnia Brandl spread the Word in Africa! 
Check out http://www.hearttouchers.com/jesus_film, a site powered by
one of my favorite married couples, Michael and Kristi Powers! 
Whether you're donating money to meet her goal of $3500 or your
prayers, I know that Brittnia would certainly appreciate you passing
on the love!  Send donations to: Brittnia Brandl, P.O. Box 393,
Clinton, WI 53525. You can contact her at [email protected].
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QUOTE FROM LESSER KNOWN PEOPLE

Ethan carefully spread peanut butter on a slice of wheat bread.  He layered sliced bananas on it, pressed Fritos into the bananas, then drizzled honey all over the mess before capping it off with another slice of wheat bread.

He sank his teeth into his masterpiece.