Are you guys getting sick of me yet?
Talking about that Dallas Morning News article made me remember this thing that I wrote to put in a Memory Book at the hospice where my sister spent her last days. I'm going to share it with you.
My Sister, My Friend
by Kathy Emerson
My best friend, in fact, for 45 years. And now my life has changed forever.
If, as a child, you had to share your room with a big brother or sister, you’ll know what I mean. We shared a room and a dresser and a closet for 18 years. We hated it but at the same time, we didn’t know the difference and if given the choice, would have probably still stayed together. I remember how we would lie in bed at night and giggle and talk, and draw pictures in the air with our finger for the other to guess. If I could turn back time, I would give anything to once again hear Mother or Daddy saying “YOU GIRLS STOP TALKING!” Then they’d say, “I’d better not hear another peep from either of you!” As soon as they shut the door, one of us, in a very soft voice, would say “Peep!” and the other would burst out in laughter – then the door would open again … “Beverly, you turn over that way! Kathy, you turn over that way! Don’t look at each other, don’t talk to each other AND I’D BETTER NOT HEAR ANOTHER WORD OUT OF YOU!!”
I love my memories of growing up with her. We fought and argued over the simplest things, but the bottom line was that we were friends. She had the blue things and I had the pink ones. Hairbrushes, dresser sets, wash cloths … you name it. They were identical except for the color, and we knew which color was ours.
We loved the bedroom we shared at our house on San Jacinto Street in Liberty. It was a converted dining room and had French doors on one side, a swinging door on the other, and a big chandelier in the center of the room. We would take the crystal ball off of it and throw it to each other. If our parents had found out, they would have busted our bottoms for sure!
The only time I ran away from home was when SHE got in trouble. I can’t even remember the details, but I set off down the street with my bathing suit and toothbrush. It must have been close to lunchtime because I remember getting hungry, turning back (keep in mind that I had probably only been gone for about ten minutes), and going home. I crawled under the bed and stayed there for a while until things settled down.
As little girls, we planted strawberries, rescued baby birds, shined the slide on our swing set with foil, played outside from dawn until dusk, and got a baby brother whom we both absolutely adored (Kevin, I hope you always knew that). And then the day came when she started school and left me; I would stand outside and wait for the school bus to bring her back home. After I started first grade, she held my hand as we walked the three blocks to school and back. We were inseparable, and we played and sang and danced and laughed and had the best childhood you can dream of.
After we were grown, we spoke nearly every day even though more than a thousand miles separated us for many years. We called each other to complain, or tell each other the latest thing that one of the kids did, or swap recipes, or just to say I’m thinking about you and I love you. So many times over the past few months, I’ve thought, “Oh, I need to tell Beverly something!” and would instinctively reach for the phone. I miss being able to give and take sisterly advice.
My sister, my friend, and now my hero. She endured more pain, and trouble, and hard times in her lifetime than any other person I know of and still kept a sweet spirit about her.
I don’t know why things happen; I can’t see the big picture that only God can see. I just know that I love her and always will.
Beverly J. Gillis
February 2, 1955 – June 7, 2002
One more thing about me
