I still reel from the news: my eldest sister is dead.
Late Wednesday, a sheriff’s detective knocked on my front door, asked me to sit down, and told me that Mimi had been found deceased in her home.
I remain in shock. So does my other sister, Merrilynn.
We three sisters were/are textbook Baby Boomers. Born 3–1/2 years apart in the ‘50s, we specialized in one thing: loving each other deeply while living independent lives with very different personalities.
We called ourselves, “Sisters United!”
We met on the road many times, including in Austin 40 years ago last May.
Our mother took this photo of us after my graduation from the University of Texas at Austin.
Have you ever seen three sisters who looked so different from each other?
Our college experiences mirrored and contrasted in interesting ways.
Mimi also graduated from UT‐Austin, three years before me. Merrilynn’s graduation came in 1977 at nearby Southwestern University, where I attended my freshman year of college.
My university graduation was a miracle (said the older sisters; in retrospect, I agree). Their degrees came in multiple, both of them earning diplomas at the post‐graduate level. Me? I stopped at bachelor.
We shared degrees but not careers: pharmacy, education, and journalism. Link these, anyone?
By 2006, the three of us ended up together again, this time living separately in the Houston area. We moved our aging mother to the area, watching over her as only devoted daughters can.
We managed several road trips with Mother before she could no longer travel. New York (twice). California. New Mexico. Around Texas.
2012 was a tumultous year in our family.
We had to move Mother into memory care. Merrilynn’s husband died of pancreatic cancer. My brain exploded from a ruptured aneurysm.
That fall, we sisters came together again. We joined Merrilynn’s tribe to celebrate her birthday that September.
Sometimes a family needs that kind of fundamental happy, if only for a single evening. I forever remember the tears that lined my eyes that night. They felt permanent.
Here we are now, seven years later — almost to the day.
Two sisters remain. 2019 is now another soul‐breaking year.
I wonder how these cycles of life repeat. Death and life, hearts shattered and minds overwhelmed. Again.
But, always, Sisters United!
As a final note, let me editorialize:
Mimi did not leave a will. She also did not plan to die unexpectedly.
Reality always beats naivete, creating a different journey for surviving family.
I beg you: love your family enough to leave a will. No one’s grief should become overburdened by unnecessary complications required by the probate experience we now face.
To each of you, thank you for sharing this life and road trip with me.
I love you.