One particular summer that Michelle and I spent together, we were old enough that we could fit into her mom’s old 50’s style skirts and dresses. We would walk up and down that long gravel driveway. We felt so special, beautiful and important. Too bad there were ZERO guys around to enjoy the show. My favorite skirt was a yellow taffeta skirt that would rustle and shimmer when I walked. I also favored a pale lavender skirt. I wish I could remember what Michelle’s favorite skirts were, but I have a total block. Maybe she had the same favorites.
I was an avid reader all through my childhood but when Michelle and I were together on the farm alone, I never once touched a book, nor did I desire to read at all. I don’t know what we talked about or laughed at, but I remember we never fought and our love was deeper than any love I’ve ever felt for anyone. That summer as she lay dying in a hospital bed in Fargo ND, I stayed at the farm to be nearby. My mom stayed with my Aunt to support both my Aunt and Michelle during this time. It had become inevitable that she would be leaving us.
I read a lot that summer more than likely to take my mind off of that dark shadow of death flirting with all of our peripheral visions. The book I remember most clearly was “Watership Down.” I had just finished the book and was immensely sad. I was wandering around the farmhouse while my Grandparents were out doing chores. I felt an overwhelming despair and sadness at that moment. In that moment, the farm phone rang and I just let it ring and ring. I knew without having to answer that it was bad news. A phone can ring differently when it’s a harborer of bad news, you have to listen very closely, but the tune is decidedly different. I finally couldn’t take it anymore and picked it up. It was my Mom and she prepared me as best as she could. She told me to go get my Grandma and I refused. I remember distinctly arguing with her that I would not, as if somehow my not getting my Grandma would allow Michelle to live on. Finally I went and got her. I don’t remember any more of that day; except that I never saw my Grandparents shed a single tear. I realize now that it was just their way. If I thought I was stoic, they surpassed that stoicism to an all new level. Maybe it was because they lived on a farm. I have noticed that a lot of farm people have a different outlook on life and death. They seem to accept it more naturally than city folk. But as a 14 year old child, I didn’t understand this lack of compassion and feeling. After all I was the one that had lost my very best friend and blood sister. Oh yes, we had cut ourselves and melded our blood together just like the cowboy and Indian shows we’d seen on television. I don’t remember anything else from that point on except the ride back home from Detroit Lakes to the farm after the funeral and burial. I felt an overwhelming sense of loss, and just at that moment the clouds parted and the sun shone down through the recently departed clouds and formed sunbeams. God had welcomed another angel into Heaven. I remember being straight pissed though.
Michelle's death occurred the summer of 1980. This was the year I would be starting high school. It was an extremely sad time...and new school certainly did not help. Who knew that Michelle's death would seem like a cake-walk in comparison to what was to come 22 years later.
I remember when Michele was first diagnosed with Leukemia. It was a summer morning and the phone rang, and since I was closest, I picked it up. I was in our family TV room. It was Grandma and she was very nice and said hi and asked what we were up to. Then she gently asked if she could talk to my Mom. At the time I was about 12 I believe. My Mom picked up the kitchen extension and for some reason I stayed on the line. I had never and never again after that day listened in a conversation my Mom was having, but for some reason I just knew something was not right. I heard her tell my mom and I didn’t understand what Leukemia was, but knew it couldn’t be good. I gently hung up and sat in the TV. room pondering. Just like me, Mom knew I had heard, so she came in and gently explained what was going on. That day I grew up a lot more than any girl of 12 should have to do.
Where do I begin with the story of my cousin Michelle. She was born a year after me. I remember her always being there. My blood sister. We grew up together. We could sit in a room together and know what we were thinking without saying a word. We spent a lot of weeks together at the farm. It was such a sense of freedom, and yet we were perfectly safe. We both spent tons of time at the Pine tree, walking the woods and just talking.