Farewell to My Sister

Words are not entirely adequate to express my love for my sister Vicki, my sorrow at her passing or my gratitude to all those who helped her on her journey, but here are the words I spoke at her “Celebration of Life” service.

Thank you to all of you for coming out today to celebrate my sister’s life.

I’ve actually had quite a while to reflect on what I wanted to say on this occasion, and I thank God for the 14 months we had after her diagnosis with an incredibly rare and impossibly aggressive cancer. It was a tough journey punctuated with moments of joy, and it brought me even closer to Vicki.

A number of years ago, after another funeral, someone questioned “Why is it that they try to make saints out of people when they die?” My first reaction was: Well, it’s human nature. We want remember the good times and dwell on the positive. But a very wise friend of mine had a different perspective, and I’d like to share it with you because it really resonated with me. She said, “When a person dies, they leave behind this earth, shed their mortal body and go to be with God in heaven. In that moment, they finally achieve perfection. So what better time to make a saint out of them?”

So in that spirit, I’d like to share a few stories about my imperfect, fallible, stubborn, flawed and absolutely wonderful sister, Vicki. This isn’t a biography—just some special memories that will, I hope, illustrate what she meant to me.

My first memory, I can’t really lay claim to as such. But it’s been part of my family lore and a story I’ve heard so often that I feel as though I do recall it. You see, it’s about the day I was born. I came into my family a little late it their lives. My parents were older, my brothers were 15 and 16, and Vicki was 18. I’ve heard tell that my mother was in no small measure of denial about her pregnancy—so much so that she was utterly unprepared for my actual arrival. So as I lay in the hospital with my mother, it was Vicki who went to town and lovingly purchased baby clothes and necessities, and made a place for me to come home to. In a way, that sums up my relationship with Vicki: to me, she was always a place to come home to.

Vicki loved beautiful things: jewel-toned clothes and matching shoes; all things Victorian; flowered china; and her home. Although she never had much in the way of material wealth, she always found a way to decorate her home, particularly for the seasons and holidays. And Christmas, by far, was her favorite. Each Thanksgiving, I’d ask her with eager anticipation, “Is this going to be a blue-and-silver Christmas, a fuchsia-and-gold Christmas or a red-poinsettia Christmas?” While other people were shopping on Black Friday, Vicki invariably decorated her home for Christmas from top to bottom. One, sometimes two trees, nativity scenes, floral swags, lighted villages, elaborate table settings, and more. Anyone who has ever seen her home at Christmas will have fond memories, I’m sure.

Vicki was steadfast and loyal. Some might have labeled her stubborn or obstinate, and they wouldn’t be wrong. Heaven help you if you were on the opposite side of an issue from Vicki. But by the same token, you couldn’t ask for a better person in your corner or on your side. When anything happened in my life—whether good or bad—Vicki was the first person I wanted to tell. Bringing good news to her always doubled my happiness—she truly rejoiced in my successes. And when something sad or upsetting had happened, I also ran to her. She was blessed with a great listening ear and wonderful crying shoulder. She’d let me talk it out, sympathize with me, and generally make me feel validated. But at the end, I could always count on her to say these four magic words: Let’s pray about it.

Vicki was a magnificent prayer warrior. There was nothing too great or too small for her to pray for. Over the years, we prayed about health, healing, family matters, work upsets, finances, school, even parking places. On our numerous trips to Stanford during Vicki’s treatment phase, as soon as we’d hit the ramp in the parking garage, she’d raise her hand and say, “Lord, we need a parking place.” And sure enough, there’d be one…by the elevator or by the door, just where we needed it. And any of you who’ve had to park at Stanford on a busy day knows what a miracle that was!

Vicki also supported me with scripture, and she had a few go-to verses, one of which has become my favorite. It’s Romans 8:28. Many of you know it. And most of you will recognize it when I say the first part of the verse: All things work together for the good for those who love the Lord. But Vicki was careful to recite the entire verse: All things work together for the good for those who love the Lord and who are called according to his purposes. Vicki showed me how simple yet powerful this verse was. The first part is about faith…having faith that no matter what happens, believing that it’s part of the tapestry that is God’s perfect plan. The second part is about us…we are called…we have a purpose. In simple terms, Vicki taught me that this verse meant that I need to do my part and trust God to do his. And throughout all the ups and downs, Vicki lived this verse. She certainly did her part: as a single-mom who made sure that her children had 100% of what they needed and most of what they wanted; and as a grandmother who sacrificed her retirement to raise her grandchildren. She did her part, too, when struck with cancer, seeking surgery and treatment. And when the cancer started to win the battle, instead of being angry or fearful about what was to come, she would comfort others.

During this time of grief, it’s hard to understand God’s plan. But I have seen his hand throughout this journey. Blessings large and small along the way. One of the biggest—and the one that gave Vicki the largest measure of peace—was finding a loving and wonderful home for her grandchildren.

In closing, I want to offer my heartfelt thanks to family and friends. Thank you for preparing meals, delivering meals and food for Vicki’s pantry; for making sure that Jaden and Autumn had rides to church on Wednesdays and Sundays; for rides to the doctor; for picking up prescriptions; for doing laundry and cleaning house; for visits and manicures and warm hats and shawls; for cards and prayers; for decorating her hospital room; for bringing her lemonade, Coca-Cola, and cherry cheesecake; for companionship; for coming today to remember her life.

Thank you for doing your part.