A Sue Memory: Extreme Sports

It was a hot summer day and we were on vacation.  I was barely an adult, so a trip with no parents in sight gave me a tingly sense of excitement and freedom.  As always, I felt privileged to be included with Sue and a group of friends. We were camping at Interlochen State Park in Northern Michigan and were on a day trip to see the Sleeping Bear Dunes.

There is one particular sand dune that anyone who has visited the area will remember.  It is the huge, beautiful one where the breathtaking view down to the clear blue Lake Michigan water looks so inviting.  It also displays a group of warning signs:

 "Warning: Steep Bluff!"

"Return Climb is extremely exhausting!"

and my personal favorite:
 

"Rescue costs are high, YOU pay the transportation!"

We stood at the top of the sand dune, surveying the sparkling beauty that lay before us, and as we did so a sisterly war commenced.

"You know we're going down there."

"No way. You can go, I'm not going."

"Come on."

"Did you see those signs? They have to bring in HELICOPTERS to rescue people here all the time!"

"You're being a wimp."

"I don't care if you think I'm a wimp."

"Haven't you seen that show, Extreme Sports? It would be like we're on that show! Don't you want to push yourself and experience something new and different? We can do this! It's not a problem! It will be so fun!"

"Arrrggghhhh! FINE"

I relented.  She could always make me relent.

The 5 minute dizzying run to the bottom of the dune was SO MUCH FUN!

Jumping into the cool, crisp water to wash off the sweat and sand felt FANTASTIC!

We laughed!  We frolicked! We splashed each other!

We looked up and said, "Holy shit, that's a long way up."

Even though it was a long way up, I did believe Sue when she said that the climb should only take us 15 minutes or so.  We just needed to get started. We each chose a small rock from the beach to take with us to the top, souvenirs of our super accomplishment. We started climbing. Each step up the 450 foot ascent would begin to propel us forward by about a foot, but once our feet were firmly planted into the sand and we transferred our weight onto the leading foot, the shifting sand would slide us down about 11.9 inches.  The dune is so steep that the only way to make the climb is to use hands and feet (and sometimes knees) to basically crawl all the way up.

We had been climbing for less than five minutes when we decided that holding a rock while trying to climb Mount Impossible was idiotic. Not wanting to lose our (getting more precious by the minute) souvenirs, and both of us finding ourselves pocket-less, we opted to store the rocks in our underwear. 

After a half hour of working at it, dripping with sweat and out of breath, we decided to stop and take a break. When we looked down to take in all of our hard won progress, it looked like we had not progressed more than 5 feet.  That's when I knew that this was going to take forever. And it was going to be horrible.

The climb, it was brutal.

 

At around the 45 minute mark, something in me snapped. Out of my mouth began to spew an unstoppable and foul string of profanity. In the midst of the excruciating ritual of step-slide-step-slide, I would yell to Sue that I couldn't believe she <expletive> got us into this <expletive> situation climbing this <expletive> mountain of <expletive> sand.

To each of my insane rantings, she would smile and yell the same response:  EXTREME SPORTS! 

That just made me more pissed at her.

It took us just under 90 minutes to complete the grueling trek to the top.  When we got there we were soaked in sweat, sunburnt, dehydrated, and still carrying rocks in our underwear.  I climbed up the last few steps and stood up just as Sue's friend Beth turned a video camera on me. 

"How does it feel to make it to the top?"

I answered with one finger.

And Sue came up behind me yelling, "EXTREME SPORTS!"

Honoring Sue at My Birthday Party: My Speech

This is the speech and song dedication I did at my birthday party. I think Sue would have loved it!

I want to thank Frank and Kate, for putting the party together, and Uncle Pete, for being our DJ. I love you guys and this is the coolest party!

I also want to thank you all so much for being here. As you all know, this has been a really hard year for me, and for my family. Life without my sister Sue has been so much harder than I ever imagined, and I've struggled with how to celebrate my birthday with it being the one year anniversary of losing her. I didn't know if I even should celebrate. But I know my sister, and know that she would be pissed if I didn't find a way to have fun on my 40th birthday. So we are going to party!

But first I want to tell you a Sue story. When I was 14 and Sue was 22 we decided, just for fun and to be “cool”, to make up a synchronized dance to a super hot song at the time, Paradise City, by Guns and Roses. As I recall, we spent probably a few weeks perfecting our routine in her bedroom at my dad's house.

A few months later we found ourselves at our mother's wedding. We were out on the dance floor, having a good time, when the first few notes of Paradise City rang out. We made eye contact with each other. We each gave a knowing nod. And that's all it took for us both to know what to do. Without any real forethought or effort, we were performing our routine just as we had so many nights in her bedroom.

As it often happens in these situations, there began to open up a circle of onlookers. We hadn't really prepared for this, as we had never actually imagined performing our dance in public.

We had no time to really feel self-conscious, though, because we were concentrating so much on our “moves”.

As soon as the song was over, we triumphantly strutted our awesome selves off the dance floor. Someone stopped us and said, “That was the cutest thing I've ever seen! I'm so glad we got it all on video! Hilarious!”

It suddenly dawned on us that everybody had been watching us. Somebody had videotaped us. The dance had not been meant for the public. What had we done!?!?!?!

We quickly made it our mission to never let anyone ever see that video, ever.

I spent the next five years hiding the video and then re-hiding it every time my mom would say, “what's my wedding video doing under this pile of old towels in the back of the closet?” I have no idea what became of the video. It may still be out there somewhere.

If I could remember the moves to the dance, I would surely teach you them tonight. But, sadly, I can only remember that we would go, 'take me down” (squat down) to paradise city, where the grass is green (hands out) and the girls are pretty, (point to self). I'm pretty sure there was also a lot of head-banging and air guitar involved.

So tonight, in loving memory of Sue, my super cool sister, my weird dance partner, and the one who would come up with these 'great ideas' that I would always later regret,, I would like to play Paradise City. I would love it if you would join me, and dance like you're a dorky 14 year old, or a dorky 22 year old who really should know better! I promise nobody will videotape you!

The Most Important Salad, Ever.

***The following is an excerpt from the eulogy I delivered at Sue's funeral, in October of 2013***

Sue and I, between the two of us, had 8 kids in 12 years. We were in the mothering trenches together and would talk on the phone pretty much daily, as we tried to figure out how to stay sane with all these kids. We would have long talks about how it was going to get easier, this baby or that baby would eventually stop crying so much, that toddler would get potty trained. Someday we would be able to use the bathroom in peace! We would make it!

One day she called me and said that her mother-in-law had told her a story about when her kids were little. She told me, “Every year on the first day of school she would go to Hudson’s and get herself a Maurice Salad to celebrate.”

The Maurice Salad became a symbol for us of the glorious day when our kids were older, were independent, and would go off to school for the whole day. We started making plans for our “Maurice Salad” days. One day she called me, all excited, because she found out that a local restaurant sold Maurice Salads. We cemented our plans. I would go out to lunch with her on the day her youngest started Kindergarten and she would go with me on the day Ben started. 

When the kids were in school we would then be what we called “living the dream”. We would have a quiet house for a few hours and would be so much more patient and happy to be with our kids at the end of the day when they all came home.

I can’t count the number of times I would be having a really hard day, with crying kids, or feeling like I was failing as a mom, or I was just plain exhausted and she would say, Just think, only a few more years until we are going to get you that Maurice Salad and we will be living the dream! She encouraged me countless times at some of my hardest moments.

Well, the day her youngest started Kindergarten, Sue’s Maurice Salad day, our dad was very sick. We had no time for going out to lunch, I think she spent that day at the hospital with him, and she didn’t get to have her salad.

The day Ben starts Kindergarten will be in early September of 2014. When I go to have my Maurice Salad she will not be with me like we planned. We will not get to “live the dream” together like we always planned.

But, I am going to march into that restaurant that day in September, and I am going to get that Maurice Salad that we have been talking about for 12 years. (I might need some of you there for moral support) I am going to have that very important salad for both of us. Because I know she would be so proud of me for making it to Maurice Salad Day. And I will live the dream, but just in a different way. And I think she would be proud of that too. And I will look up to heaven that day and hope and pray that she is having her Maurice Salad too, and that she is living the dream too, just in a different way.

I will miss her always, I will love her always, and I will live my life in a way that would make her proud. I will torture her kids for her, and love them with all my heart, I will laugh as much as humanly possible, and know that there will never be another person like her in my life.

A Sue Memory: "Regular"

"You're saying that wrong, and it's driving me crazy." Sue told me.

"Saying what wrong?"

"The word 'regular'.  You say 'reg-lee-ur' but it should be 'reg-u-lar'"

They sounded the same to me.  I started repeating it over and over, "reg-lee-ur, reg-lee-ur..."

"That's IT!" she said, coming at me, "I am going to fix this."

See that sister on the left? She has just noticed that the sister on the right
talks like a baby, and she's going to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Don't
worry, middle sister, your Barbie Doll Cake is safe.

"How are you going to..." but she was already on top of me, my arms pinned on either side of my ears. I lifted my hips trying to throw her off, but she was STRONG. I was pinned in tickle-torture position. This would be bad.

Sue was skinny, but so strong it seemed superhuman.  She would pin me to the floor, tickle me until I couldn't breathe, then do it some more. And now, apparently, she was going to tickle me into a state of correct pronunciation.

"Here's how this is going to go. Say it right, or you're not getting up."

"REG-LEE-UR"  I struggled, kicking my legs.  Occasionally I could turn and give a good kick that would  land somewhere on her thigh or lower back. This didn't stop her, but sometimes distracted her enough for me to catch my breath.

"Repeat after me:  REG"
"REG"
"YOU"
"YOU"
"LUR"
"LUR"

"REGULAR"
"REG-LEE-UR"

We went over and over it. I repeated each syllable correctly, then pronounced the word wrong. She told me I was never going to get up. The struggle continued.

Somehow, after the 50th or so incorrect pronunciation, the stars aligned, heaven opened up and a chorus of angels began to sing:  I said it.  I said, "REGULAR". Something clicked and I could finally hear the difference between what she was saying and what I had been saying.

Sue smiled.  She said, "Say it again."
"Regular." I responded.

Sue got up, and pulled me up with her.

"Now don't say it wrong again. It makes you sound like a baby. Come on, I'll make you some Kool-Aid.

I seriously never pronounced that word incorrectly ever again. Sue knew how to get results.

A Sue Memory: The Cabbage Patch Kid Pants

For my 10th birthday, my Grandma bought me something I'm sure she thought I would love: a pair of Cabbage Patch Kid pants.  It made sense, Cabbage Patch Kids were all the rage at that time, and I had a little bald preemie boy I had named William.  I bought him real baby clothes at garage sales.  I played with William all the time, carefully choosing his outfits and laying him down for naps.

Me at age 10: mullet and sweater vest?  Sure.
Cabbage Patch Kid Pants?  Oh hell no.

There was just one major problem. I was WAY too old for a pair of Cabbage Patch Kid pants.  I thanked Grandma for the pants, and when I got home I stuffed the bright blue, baby-head embroidered horrors into a bottom drawer.  I had no intention of being caught dead in those horrendous freak-pants.  I got a chill when I imagined what the kids at school would say if I walked in wearing BABY PANTS.

The next Spring I was playing outside at recess.  The recess ladies warned us that there was a lot of mud around, so to be careful.  I had no time to heed their warnings, however, because I was deep into an intense game of freeze tag.  Julie came running at me, and there was no way I was going to let her tag me, so I ran down the big hill.  The big hill with the gigantic mud puddle at the bottom.  I lost control of my feet. I slid, quickly and limbs flailing, into the mud puddle.

I was drenched in mud.  The recess lady sent me into the office to call home to get new clothes.  I called my house, on the off chance that my mom might be home.  Sue answered.  She had graduated from high school by this time and was sometimes home during the day.

"Sue, will you please bring me a clean outfit up to school?"  I asked.  "I'm all muddy."

"Sure, I'll be there in a few minutes."  She answered.

Whew.  Problem solved.

I waited in the office.  Sue walked in a few minutes later and handed me a bag with some clothes, then she was gone.  I trotted off to the girls' bathroom to change before the lunch recess bell rang.

I opened the bag.  A red shirt.  Fine.  Some socks.  Perfect.  OH MY GOD SHE BROUGHT ME THE CABBAGE PATCH KID PANTS!  Oh no.  I was going to die.  I was going to fall over and die right there on the girls' bathroom floor.  Why?  Why would she do this to me?  What had I done to deserve this? I felt hate. I burned with rage and embarrassment. My life was over.

I put on the pants.  What else could I do?  Fortunately I had a jacket with me that was only mildly muddy and I tied it around my waist to try to conceal as much of the pants as possible.  I felt the eyes of the entire school on my baby pants.

I kept a low profile for the rest of the day.  I barely spoke and was so relived when the day was over that I ran to the bus.  Then I ran home from the bus stop.  I was going to give that sister of mine a talking to.

I burst in the door, crying now.  "Sue!" I yelled.  "Why did you make me wear these horrible Cabbage Patch Kid Pants!  You know I'm too old for these pants!  I hate them!  Why are you so mean?"

"Huh?"  She responded, "You needed pants. Those were the only ones I could find. Calm down, you crabby bubba!"

Oh.  She had no idea I hated the pants.  I checked my room.  There were no other clean pants.  Oh.

I changed into a pair of dirty jeans and stuffed the offensive pants into a shoe box in the back corner of my closet.  We never spoke of the pants again.

Except that when we were adults, I would sometimes out of the blue yell, "WHY DID YOU MAKE ME WEAR THOSE CABBAGE PATCH KID PANTS?"

She would yell back, "I DIDN'T KNOW YOU HATED THEM!"

And we would laugh our butts off.

A Sue Memory: The Snow Horse

My yard, Winter 2013-14

Sue was so into horses that she used to draw pictures of them constantly.  Mostly pencil drawings, the horses with flowing manes would elegantly gallop through the page.

She also had a habit of pulling me into her room, making me kneel on the floor next to her bed, and forcing me to pray for her to get a horse.  I would stare at her Bugs Bunny sheets while she loudly and passionately prayed, "Lord, we are both asking you, from the bottom of our hearts, to please give me a horse."

I felt guilty when I'd think, "Well, there are things I'd like too. I've been wanting a puppy. And a lot of candy."

"We would take really good care of my horse, Lord, so please, please send me a horse.  Amen."

I would defiantly be whispering, "and some candy for me and a puppy too please" when she would elbow me, hard, in the ribs.  "Say AMEN!"

Sam in the snow

Amen.

Months went by and no horse had magically appeared in our backyard, so she changed her tactics.  We began to pray that our family would move to Venezuela.

"Why Venezuela?" I asked one afternoon when we had said our amens.

"Because there are a ton of horses there, of course!"  She matter-of-factly answered, while shooing me out of her room.  I was really only allowed in to give her prayer sessions extra weight.

One Winter evening she went outside to play in the snow. She told me to wait inside. She was outside for so long I forgot that I was supposed to be waiting for her.  Finally, she called to me to come out and see what she had made.

There in our humble backyard stood a beautiful sparkling horse made of snow.

"It's big enough that you can sit on it.  Go ahead, try it out!" She smiled.

I was stunned and amazed.  I could, indeed, sit on the horse.  I played on the horse for days.  I let certain of my carefully selected friends come over to sit on it (carefully!)  I bragged ceaselessly about the snow horse my sister had made for me.  I was in heaven.

Future snow horse builders? Maybe

The horse eventually melted.  Our family never moved to Venezuela.  Sue never had a surprise horse appear out of nowhere (although in the early 90's she briefly owned a wild mustang who wouldn't even let her touch it).

But for me, it was as if God, himself had sent a horse to my backyard as an answer to a repeated prayer that I was forced to pray.

To me, it seemed that Sue was all-powerful and could make anything happen.

A Sue Memory: An American Tail

We had a standing date on Friday nights.  We agreed that if neither of us got a better offer, we would go out together.  I loved this arrangement because with me being in the 7th grade, "a better offer" usually meant a babysitting job.  She had plenty of better offers but sometimes was free on a Friday.  After all, she was a real grown up with a job, a car, and everything.

On our Friday nights she would pick me up at home.  As we walked out the door, she would say, "Ready?" and I knew I was supposed to answer, "Ready, Santa!" in my best Rudolph voice.  Sometimes we went to the mall and she would buy me a slush or maybe a new shirt. Most of the time, though, we would go to 7-11 and buy Fun Dips, the big ones with three flavors of dip and two dipping sticks, hide them in her purse and head to the movies.

In the parking lot of the movie theater she would ask me what music was popular.  She was 20 now and didn't want to lose touch with what the young people were into.  She would ask about school, but not the boring questions most adults asked (do you like school?  what's your favorite subject?).  She would ask if that mean girl was still being mean, did I still like that cute boy in Science class?  Had I ever gotten up the nerve to write him that note I was planning to write?  Did Mr. Linteau still give the hardest vocabulary tests like way back when she had him?

The night we were going to see An American Tail, we had her purse loaded up with Fun Dip and had some time to kill in the parking lot before the movie started.  I asked her if she was sure she wanted to see a little kid movie with a cartoon mouse.  She said she thought it looked like it would be a cute movie.  I felt a little relieved, because I wanted to see it too, but I didn't want to act like a kid.  I told her I had a song for her to listen to, it was a really good one.  I played her "Rock Me" by Great White.  She loved it.  We played it over and over until it was time to go into the theater.  I felt grown up.

We sat in the dark, eating Fun Dip until it made the roofs of our mouths raw.  We both cried when Fivel was reunited with his parents.  I felt like a kid.

She made it easy for me to be both at the same time.

A Sue Memory: I'm Pretty Scared of that Guy

"You want to come with us to McDonalds?"  Sue asked me, casually.  I looked up from playing with my Speak and Spell, completely stunned.  Was she messing with me?

"Yup"  I mumbled, while scrambling to find my shoes.  I didn't want to show too much enthusiasm, she might decide I was acting stupid and change her mind.  I climbed into the passenger seat of her red Chevy Nova.  I had never paid much attention to cars before, but I was definitely going to have my Dad buy me a Chevy Nova when I was old enough to drive.

We drove to her friend Beth's house to pick her up.  I moved to the backseat, then sat way forward to listen to their conversations.  As a 9 year old, high school gossip was fascinating and exotic to me.  I tucked away some of the new vocabulary to use on the playground later.  "He's such a loser" sounded so much more grown up than, "He's a dummy".

The next stop was to pick up Dave, another friend.  I mulled this over.  High school boys and girls can be friends with each other?  In my class boys and girls worked very hard to never speak to each other at all.

Sue hopped out of the driver's seat and pushed it forward so Dave could get in the back seat.  I moved as far to my side of the back seat as possible.  Third grade habits die hard.  Then I looked up at him.  He had long, feathered hair.  For reasons I still can't quite articulate, this terrified me.

For the entire rest of the ride to McDonald's Dave tried to make small talk with me, asking about school, what my favorite color was, whether I had seen the movie, E.T. and I just stared at him, both amazed and appalled by his long, flowing hair.  I had seen long hair on a boy before, but it was on MTV, and it was attached to David Lee Roth, or that guy from Journey.  Dave talked like a normal person, but was he a rock star?  How was an average third grader supposed to make small talk with a person like this?

Sue turned on the radio, an Ozzy Osbourne song was on.  I knew all the words to his songs from sitting around in Sue's room while she listened to records, promising that I would act cool and begging her not to kick me out.  I momentarily forgot my Dave-fear and started to sing along.  Dave said, "Your little sister knows all the words to an Ozzy song?  Cool!"  He held his hand up to me for a high five.  I stopped singing, hunched down in my seat, and stared out the window.

"Wow, she really doesn't like me!"  he announced to Sue and Beth.  They all laughed hysterically.

After we went through the drive-thru (where I managed to quietly order a coke) we drove around, and I wished we could just go home.  Maybe I wasn't cut out for being around high schoolers after all.

When we dropped them both back off at their houses and started our drive home, Sue said, "Why were you acting like such a goon-bucket?"

"Shut up! You're the goon-bucket."  I replied.

I stared out the window and smiled.  I had just had one of the most exciting afternoons of my life.