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| Priscilla Lynn (Shepheard) Pettitt (1940-2016) |
I lost my big sister last week. Lynn was here when the other children in my family arrived and occupied a very important part of our
lives. I suppose any one of us could have been the first. Only an accidental
combination of chromosomes resulted in her coming along before the rest of us.
Things work out the way they are supposed to, though. As the
oldest she merrily led the way into all of our futures – when we felt like
following her. She walked first; she talked first; she went to and finished
school first; got married and had children first.
When I was saying good bye to her last week I of course got
thinking about how I could explain why she was so special to me.
Something came to my mind that our mother used to say – generally
when one of us kids let our sense of self-importance rise a little too high. She
told us that, “You were all cut from the same piece of cloth!”
The same piece of cloth! That matter-of-fact statement was a
reminder that no one’s self-interest was supposed to be greater than the
others’.
The first time I heard Mom say that, as a little guy, I
didn’t totally understand what she was talking about. And I wasn’t sure what
kind of fabric she meant. I figured it must have to do with having the same
parents but that’s where the analogy stopped. I had this image in my mind of a
cookie-cutter, punching out identical gingerbread men from rolled-out dough or scissors
cutting a people chain out of folded paper. Both produce a bunch of lookalike
individuals. I do remember it was not a real appealing thought at the time. I
mean, I didn’t want to look or be like my sisters for goodness sake.
I did learn that this particular cloth we were cut from had
the ability to maintain itself and stay fresh, so other pieces could be cut
from it later – in total five times in our case. But the pieces never were
really totally separated. Not all of the threads were completely severed even
though each of us stood apart.
What I have also come to appreciate over the years is that,
while our origins were the same, this piece of cloth was a kind of magical fabric
that allowed a wide range of individual personalities to develop and yet still have
them share so much – things like some physical traits, of course, and some emotional
ones too I guess: stubbornness, single-mindedness and quick tempers on occasion
come to mind. Or so I have been told. Lynn also had that amazing quality of always
being upbeat and positive which is pretty important for the oldest sibling when
you think about it but difficult for the others to always match.
Through the nurturing of our parents we developed a set of
values – among them, exhibiting good behaviour and respect for others, for
example – not always easy in practice. With those early admonitions, Mom was
really telling us that those important qualities were imbued in that special
cloth we were made of. That was so because the pieces of cloth she and Dad had
been cut from possessed certain virtues, and what they created together would
also contain them.
Our parents allowed, or perhaps resigned themselves to
expect that we would make mistakes along the way while developing our own
personas and individualities. That happens because of what threads that fabric
is made of – mystical elements that allow individuals to become so different in
so many ways but still be made of similar stuff. As it turned out my sisters
and I could probably not have been more different – and yet alike, too, in many
ways!
Lynn encountered difficulties along the way, as most people
do, not the least of which were serious health problems. She never let any of
them get her down for long, though. Her positive attitude got her through all
the low points. Her cheery disposition was a model for the rest of us – one
perhaps we did not always take to heart or recognize were also in our
pieces of the cloth as well.
Lynn and her husband, Roy went on to fabricate their own
piece of cloth, something I know that had many of the same attributes she had.
As I look at my nephews now, and how they conduct themselves, I know it was an admirable
piece of material.
Siblings have a unique bond which is primarily due to the
distinctiveness of their origin – coming from the same piece of cloth – but enriched
by the love and care of their parents. No matter what else happens in life, or
even how irritated one might get with a sibling at times, there is an exclusive,
irreplaceable and unbreakable relationship – often whether we like it or not. What
we learn about social interaction begins between siblings, not all of it positive
sometimes. Things don’t always run smooth between people this close.
The bond I had with my big sister was always very strong.
She and I were born in the same month of the year – November – which gave us
another reason to be close. I mean, everyone knows how special Scorpios are!
Siblings share beginnings and upbringing for only a short
time – then make their own way – enjoying good times and enduring bad ones. We all
grow up expecting certain things will happen, that our parents will be there to
help us along for a while but eventually they will be gone, as happened with
their parents. Then we’ll continue along our own paths, responsible for our own
needs and chasing our own dreams.
We don’t really give a lot of thought to whether one of us
might be lost along the way – until it happens!
We were all very young when our little brother, Jimmy died.
It didn’t seem right but we hadn’t had a lot of time to develop really close
ties and share a great many experiences together. He was only two at the time. We
also hadn’t learned what being brothers and sisters really was all about. In a
short time our little sister, Janice, came along and our world went back to
being normal and in proper order again.
As time went by, each of us progressed in life, building
other relationships, experiencing events personal to ourselves, producing our
own unique pieces of cloth from which our children were cut – but still
maintaining a contact with each other; because we were still connected by the threads
of that worn yet still durable piece of material. We didn’t see or phone each
other as much as we might or should have. We never thought we had to in order
to maintain a close relationship. That did not mean our piece of cloth was not
still intact, though.
The distances between us didn’t really matter although as
you get older you seem to be less inclined to make even a short trip. When we
did get together we enjoyed the occasions, catching up on news, having a laugh
with and about each other – especially when Lynn was part of the group and she
was doing the cooking.
It’s a big shock when a sibling dies, especially someone that
has been there throughout your entire lifetime. It can also be a stark reminder
of your own mortality. While driving home, after our last visit
with Lynn, my sister, Sharon, said to me, “When someone has been around for so
long, you just take it for granted they will continue to be there.”
When you lose a sibling, it’s like your piece of the same
fabric from which you both were cut has been torn, too. And it hurts!
In one instant you see and remember everything you shared
together – over 70 years in my case. Two lifetimes, separate but intertwined. We
survive – with a small hole in our hearts. But also with much joy as well – for
having been part of a family, for having been part of one special piece of
cloth.
Not everyone is so lucky to be able, as siblings do, to share
happiness, sadness, elation, pride, tribulation, frustration, friendship, exasperation,
disagreements, grief – in other words – a full life. Siblings have that ability
to combine the best and worst and just go on, never losing touch entirely but
never having to always be in touch completely.
We did not always remember to phone each other on our
birthdays, for instance, but we did not forget them.
I won’t forget Lynn in the future either. I know there will
always exist that special piece of cloth from which we were cut, that connected
us in life and that will continue to keep me close toher in spirit and with great
memories.
