Heading West

I write this as I am seated in row 43 on a westbound 757 en route to Portland, Oregon. Not much of a seat for a grand but it’s what you get when you have to go-- and go now.

“Heading west” is an old expression for those who have departed. And so it is that I am presently headed compass west, to gather with my family and pay respects to my dear sister Lois who passed away earlier this week.

Lois was my oldest sibling in the family of eight children in which I am the youngest. She was a generation removed from me, old enough to be my mother; she was out of the home and a teacher on her own by the time I tumbled onto the scene. In fact, she has always remained quite a bit removed from me. We took great joy in one another but we had a bridge between us that always stood in place. For me, as with several of my older siblings, she was a living testament to a past I never knew, the upbringing I never endured, the relationship to young parents I never knew. If I wanted a glimpse at what life might have been like had I been born in 1936, to young first-time parents married just 2 years, I needed to look no further than my big sister Lois.

There are lessons to be learned from a much older sibling, lessons in how to, or how not to, live life. Lessons easily ignored but never too late to revisit, to relearn. Lois was among the fortunate to have lived a life filled with friends and family, several of whom were able to sit with her as she slowly set off for the west. And a loving husband who stood by her literally to the very end.

So much life. So much joy. So much pleasure taken in being a participant rather than an observer. All good lessons. The very best. So much to teach me and those around her. Life lessons—in living and in dying.

I should be so lucky-- and so wise-- as to now take time, look within, and learn those lessons she so generously demonstrated.

Farewell dear sister.