THE HUMOUROUS TRUTH

Sibling relationships have long been analyzed by child psychologists.  More specifically, how they cooperate, how they manage conflict and how they play with one another. Curiously, one area not studied as much is the humor element siblings bring to one another.  For me it’s simple, my learned behavior of humor most definitely came from my large family of 9.  Moments of comedy and absurdity were just part of our everyday life.  Love God, love one another and have a sense of humor.

Of course, having funny parents helps.  Our Dad was a larger than life (both figuratively and literally) kind of guy.  Growing up in Westchester County, NY he enjoyed a charmed life of doting parents, private schools, and a summer house on the Connecticut shore. It was maybe this happy childhood that somehow laid the groundwork for the infamous funny storyteller he would be known for later in his life. Our mother on the other hand was raised on a rural farm in Maine where on her 15^th birthday one of her gifts would include the long-awaited joy of indoor plumbing.  I imagine standup comedy would be tough practiced in an outhouse but somewhere along the way she picked up the wickedest funny dry New England Yankee sense of humor only fully appreciated by those who have grown up around a wicked funny dry New England Yankee sense of humor.  I guess opposites do attract because our parents and their vastly different backgrounds were living testimony to it.  I’d like to believe their shared love of laughter helped them through not only their 53-year marriage but also the raising of six daughters and a son.

Of all the siblings, Suzi was not only the first born she also held the life long coveted title of being the funniest. Our only brother, the youngest, has consistently run a very close second with his sharp, one liner wit, but even in her death she still reigns supreme.  Side-splitting, hour-long hysterics were her specialty.  She had an uncanny talent to retell any family story from years past by taking it to exaggerated heights while role playing every relative and capturing their voice and mannerisms perfectly. She was brilliantly hysterical.  She was an instigator of fun as well.  Like many families of our time, we ate together regularly and the clearing of the table and the doing of dishes were always the kids responsibility.  One night as our father sat at his head chair enjoying his after-dinner cigar, Suzi goaded us into a game of whoever could blow the dish soap from the kitchen closest to his chair in the dining room without him noticing would win. We got it pretty close before his reaction of noticing the floating bubbles was funnier than the game itself.  She was witty funny as well.  Owner of a small weekend apartment in NYC she would often lecture the rest of us the importance of staying aware of our surroundings while visiting.  Once, while telling her the story of how my college roommate and I almost lost her daughter in the busy subway station at Grand Central, Suzi was unusually quiet on the other end of the phone.  “Are you still there?” I asked thinking we had gotten disconnected. She deadpanned back “I wish I wasn’t– I’m breaking out in hives just listening to this story.”  LOL

I have yet to meet the perfect family, we certainly weren’t.  But I do believe the sense of humor instilled in us while growing up lead us each to have a more positive attitude in life. And I’d like to believe the (mostly) good natured ribbing toward each other toughened us up a bit as well.  Whatever the intent of our parents, it paid off. We are a funny bunch who miss our funniest each and every day since she left.  There was a short time we thought we’d never laugh again.  But we have.  And we have passed that love of laughter onto our next generation who are turning out to be funnier than we were! Wealth and fame may be for some, but I choose our legacy of laughter mixed with a whole lot of love and the knowledge that no matter what:

“No one will ever be quite as entertained by us as us.”

Suzi, we have just celebrated another Siblings Day and it’s hard to imagine you have been gone almost 5 years, but your stories are timeless and when we are together we remember and still laugh so hard.  Thanks for leaving us that very special part of you!

The Closet Where You Kept You

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

—-Khalil Gibran

A year after her death, Suzi’s closet remained untouched. She had left that Saturday morning  with a book and bathing suit to visit with our youngest sister at her house not a ¼ mile away.  After a swim and some sibling chat, she slumbered into a peaceful afternoon nap that she just never woke up from.  

Until now, we had avoided the very thing our brother-in-law needed the most help with– her closet. Armed with caffeine and courage, three sisters found ourselves in the exact spot our Suzanne had left that Saturday morning a year before. Upon opening the doors, it was her familiar fragrance that would greet us. The one unique to just her—a floral fingerprint.  Clearly, she would be joining us for the task at hand. We would embark on a journey through time and she wasn’t going to miss it. 

It began in Europe, with the jar full of foreign currency leftover from earlier trips. It sat alongside the neatly hung scarves she bought on every trip, each patiently waiting their turn to be worn again.  Photos of she and her husband Billy on a gondola ride in Venice, then on the steps of Notre Dame, with work friends visiting Rome.  From there we happened upon her stash of wigs collected over the years and worn to dances and parties (much to the amusement of family and friends.) She had said they kept her “interesting”  so we paired them with one of her many sunglasses and an exotic hat found from the shelf above and snapped hysterical selfies of ourselves striking a pose. Oh, did we laugh! We next found ourselves in Yankee stadium with the endless stack of commemorative tee shirts she had collected during the many years of games they had attended with their son and others. She loved her Yankees.  Of course that led us to her beloved Broadway, where we marveled at the number of playbills she had kept—she called it her one vice and would willingly give up spending money anywhere else to save for those coveted first run shows.  We paused with our cleaning and began belting out tunes that all 6 sisters had sung together so often over the years while passing the time stuck with kitchen duty after another large family gathering. Suzi always said no one could amuse us as much as us. LOL. Disney followed, mostly just tons of totes purchased to carry home all the goodies she gave as gifts throughout the year. We sifted through notecards bought from the Metropolitan Museum of Art she visited so often during the time they lived in New York City. We combed through clothes, many of which we would proudly be donating to the “Dress for Success” organization she had quietly been associated with for decades–she was an early champion of empowering women.   And of course, we took more than a few moments to compose ourselves when arriving at more personal family keepsakes carefully passed down through generations.

I believe grief offers us turning points. Like when you realize grief is just deep love called by another name. Suzi had taken us each by the hand and had reminded us of all the good things she had in her life. As we sorted and packed boxes, it suddenly felt metaphorical—as if she was at the same time encouraging us to clean out the heaviness her death had brought to our hearts and replace it with lighter feelings of laughter and joy. 

This day she reminded us in the journey of life, love is always the best destination.

_{Happy Birthday in heaven Suzi.  You have been joined this summer by Billy and Bob. I bet as much a shock to you as it was for us. We rallied.  We did what we do best—we came together as a family.   As we approach another holiday season without the many loved ones we have lost, I am determined to rejoice in the happy memories. And today, on your birthday, to remain grateful for you—my sister. xoxox}

THE IMPASSE

My head and my heart are not talking.

Much like siblings, they have had a disagreement. They had been getting along so well until the 2nd anniversary of Suzi’s death had to show up and ruin everything.

We have experienced our fair share of sibling squabbles over the years. It’s a hallmark of large families–especially when affection and attention from parents are sliced into much smaller pieces, in our case, seven to be exact.

The early years within our household brought the usual kid fights over toys, chores, or the occasional ganging up on one another. Our father, larger than life both figuratively and literally, would put a swift end to any internal uprisings long before they could escalate. This was around the same time our parents Ford Country Squire often exited the driveway for the Yale Polo Grounds (or later Yankee Stadium) to watch their beloved New York football Giants and Suzi was left in charge. Quickly, it was clear that our eldest sister chose to adopt the Joseph Stalin type of dictatorship as her way to manage us all. She would later describe it as her being a contestant on an early version of the TV show SURVIVOR. Their taillights had barely left our street when she began setting the house clocks back so as to trick us all into an earlier bedtime. Soon after, she would lock herself in the bathroom in the most dramatic of fashions threatening to expose our awful behavior and lack of listening skills to our parents all while sneaking both her petite princess phone and stash of cigarettes into the bathroom with her and locking herself in for the duration of the afternoon. Truth be told, she spent much of the time our parents were away NOT watching us yet instead guilting us into behaving or better yet, bribing us with those take home hamburgers and fries she brought to us from her very first job at a new restaurant in our town called McDonalds. Her strategy proved most successful. Everything and everyone were always in one piece upon their return. Our parents would marvel at the management skills she possessed as well as her uncanny ability to help us all get along during their absence. Suzanne the Conqueror was crowned!

Not long after that, our Mom entered back into the workforce. With more of us pitching in to help with the younger ones, Suzi loved to tease that it now took at least 3 of us to do what she had been able to manage by herself for years. Little did she know how spot on she was and how well into our adulthood she would remain our forever babysitter.

Being a few years older, she was in college by the time the rest of us entered those difficult teenage bickering years. Sharing (or not) clothes, cars, boys and very close quarters made for some doozy fights. For the most part, Suzi missed most of all that. She was busy fighting her own independence battle with our parents. They had spent years nurturing and building this close family dynasty only to have to stand by and watch the first of us break away to become a free-standing human being.

Somehow, through all the madness, our family endured. Exactly how, I am not sure but I can only surmise that it was very simply the good sibling bond carefully crafted and set in place by our parents very early in our existence. Ultimately, they knew our relationships with each other would be the most important and long lasting of our lives.

Three years ago, when some of us were not playing well together in an (adult) sandbox and we no longer had our Dad to do the squashing, Suzi speculated to me in a text how she thought the (then) sibling skirmish would eventually end. She wrote:

“Luckily for our family the sum of the strengths is greater than the whole. That’s why it works so well.”

So maybe I’ll treat my head, who reminds me too often she is gone, and my heart, who will not let her go, like a sibling quarrel. I will keep them separated until they are calm and give them a little space until they can figure it out.

Happy 3rd birthday in heaven Suzi. Thank you for the words and memories you left for us all. You are loved and missed every day.

Looking back to move forward

I read once that siblings share genes but rarely personalities. That held somewhat true for us.  Suzi and I were only 6 years apart in age but quite different in life.

A self-professed lifelong learner, she had earned her bachelor’s degree then dual master’s degrees, where I was content to never take another class after graduating college.  While she enjoyed a long career working for the same company, each decade I worked brought me different employment. She was organized, punctual and pragmatic, me—let’s just say not so much.  Her  family regularly traveled out of the country for vacations, while our family vacations revolved mostly around the locations of our girls sporting events.

I remember one specific time when our two worlds collided.  Willy was away for work and I needed to get our daughter Kate to a hockey game an hour away from home.  The night was forecasted to be cold and rainy and Suzi was worried about me traveling alone with the kids.  It would be the first time she would witness our weekly ritual of lugging hockey bags, skates, water bottles, and goalie equipment as well as all the items our younger daughter Kris needed to keep herself occupied during the game. After unloading everything, I finally met up with her (looking quite uncomfortable) in the freezing cold rink, KNITTING, among the rowdy hockey crowd. It was a typical game involving endless whistles, buzzers and parents who shouted like sideline coaches. Always so loud in the rink!  As usual, she quietly took everything in before announcing to me in the car on the way home that she would never, ever be coming with me again.  LOL. I cherish the memory of that night.

Thankfully, one passion we did end up sharing was Ancestry.  Our obsession to penetrate our past to find out who we were and where we came from.  Ironically, for the longest time we never knew of our shared interest. 

Suzi started her life in Maine living with our Mother and her wonderful parents on their farm, while our Dad finished his stint in the Air Force out west.  When he was discharged, he promptly moved them both away to Connecticut where he had grown up and his parents still lived and ultimately, where the rest of us siblings were born.  As she grew, Suzi never forgot or lost touch with her special Maine roots and remained extremely close to the relatives who helped raise her.  The rest of us grew up understandably closer to our Dad’s side of the family.  

All of that didn’t matter when we finally found the time to start comparing our notes. Two family sides meshed into one. Newly retired, Suzi immersed herself with the combing through of old newspaper articles, census records, letters, birth certificates and military records while I began helping her sift through the endless boxes of old photographs trying to identify our deceased relatives. It was during this time she developed a strong desire to find out the path us sisters would need to be accepted into The Daughters of the American Revolution. Not an easy task but civic pride and participation had always been very important to her.

On September 5, 2018, Suzi wrote an email to all her siblings letting us know about her research and how she had gone back far enough in our lineage to officially be able to apply for induction. We were all so happy and proud for her.  She and I made a pact right then to bring all our materials to share with each other when we met in South Carolina that Christmas.

Three weeks later she would leave us.  Suddenly and without warning. And time as we knew it stood still.  How, in an instant, could my sister have suddenly joined our Mother, Father, Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents and Great Grandparents as a completed entry on our family tree?

It wasn’t long after her death that her husband received notice that Suzi would be inducted into the DAR.  Posthumously. On the saddest of happiest days, a bunch of us gathered and lifted our glasses to toast her accomplishment. Then I flew home and put away every bit of information on our family Ancestry.   Together we had shared our obsession with passion and enthusiasm.  There would be no joy in continuing without her.

Until now.  

I’ve arrived at a place in my grief where it’s clear that I need to pick up where we left off.  But I have decided we will continue together. 

She will remind me of all I should remember.

She will strengthen my heart, keep strong my curiosity.

For I now accept that she has joined the others who went before her.

Those I hold dear in my heart and visit in my dreams.

Those who we never knew but met together just before she left.  

She will hold her own place in the lives of our ancestors, those imagined arms wrapped around all of us. 

She will stay with me as I continue her work of introducing our past to our future.

Suzi.  I made it almost all the way through this visit without crying. I don’t know whether that should make me happy or sad, but I keep moving.  I miss you every day.

CLARITY

Recently, I chaperoned an outdoor Wilderness program for my grandson’s fifth grade class.  One of their favorite activities turned out to be a hike, where after dinner, we all gathered in a large field, acclimated our eyes to the night sky and continued deep into the woods with only a head counselor carrying a red flashlight to lead our way.  The kids loved it, but I spent those two hours working hard to not only keep up but to keep myself steady and balanced on the slippery, rocky and uneven path.  It was nerve wracking!

The outdoor experience of that trip got me thinking back to the time Suzi, Billy, Jesse, Will and I went camping together at Sebastian Inlet, Florida, not too far from where Willy and I were living while he finished college.  Although a beautiful spot during the day, nighttime was a different story.  For years after, Suzi and I would howl with laughter remembering our nightly trips to the bathroom area.  Hanging onto each other, we would make our way in the dark fearing every noise we heard was some dreaded armadillo or possibly a snake lurking near our walkway.  However, we also had to stay true to our Billmeyer name, so of course we found ways to scare each other along the way. One night, I found a stick with many branches and shook it under her stall while screeching “SNAKE!!!”  Her scream was so loud that for a minute I thought she really saw a snake, so I dropped the stick and started screaming too.  As the saying goes “you had to be there” but the memories of that trip will stay with me forever.

The nervous part of me not being able to see during that night hike brought me back to the days when Diabetes began taking its toll on Suzi’s eyesight. 

Diabetes.

The one family heirloom that nobody wanted passed down to them.  An uncle and a beloved cousin had already been taken from us way too young.  It reared its ugly head on Suzi’s doorstep right after her son Jesse was born.  Although 27, she would be considered more of a Juvenile diabetic and went straight to daily insulin shots. I will always believe Suzi downplayed this life changing news as “no big deal” and “it doesn’t know who its messing with” because of the fierce protective love she (and all of us) had for our Mother and the tremendous guilt we knew Mom carried for having the family history come from her side.  Luckily, our sister also inherited our mothers “Maine Yankee” character.  Strong, stoic and practical.  She would need it.

The news of anyone challenged with a health issue can come with reactions of sympathy and sadness. It can also carry the perception that after diagnosed, somehow that person becomes almost  “lesser” of a person.  From the start Suzi would have none of this.  Instead, she set out to create a world designed for her.  Outwardly, she never seemed to skip a beat.  Life was to be lived no matter what the circumstances.  However, later in her life her routine of meal preparation, computer work, household chores, family and work travel, community volunteering and most importantly driving, all became increasingly difficult as her eyesight diminished. Still, she adjusted. She persevered. But what most people didn’t realize is that what she did every day behind the scenes to keep her world running smoothly took immense planning. 

One day a few years back, Suzi called me to arrange a trip to New York for Jackson to see the Broadway show “Matilda.”  He was visiting Connecticut and it was close to his birthday.  The show was on a limited engagement and she really wanted to treat he and I to a trip.  So along with her friend Debra, we headed to the city for a special day planned by Aunt Suzi.  What we didn’t know was she had also planned a surprise lunch at the Hard Rock Café.  Knowing Jackson’s love of music and especially the band Aerosmith, she had arranged for him a special VIP experience to the restaurant’s balcony overlooking Times Square while holding an authentic Aerosmith guitar!  The sad irony was she had planned this amazing day for my grandson but didn’t trust herself to make the trip up the dark, winding stairway that led to the infamous balcony.  She assured us she was fine to stay behind so Deb, Jack and I enjoyed that most very special moment she had so lovingly arranged. Not too long after that she called to ask how long it had been since Willy and I had seen the Statue of Liberty.  “In real life,” she teased.  Ummmm….I couldn’t actually remember.  “Well we’re going!” was her enthusiastic response.  These special Aunt Suzi trips were frequent within the Billmeyer family. My children along with my siblings and their children have all been recipients of her wonderful generosity many times over.

Since her passing I’ve been able to reflect on possible reasons why she was always the planner of these memorable days and why she never liked to be surprised herself.  It might have been her self proclaimed Type A personality and the need to be in control or it just might have been to be sure her own personal needs could be dealt with and put in place beforehand so the people she was with would only focus on the happy experience.  Whatever the case, its her overall message that has become crystal clear:

                      You don’t need perfect eyesight to see and feel joy. 

We will celebrate your birthday next week Suzi.  The second one without you here with us.  Our world is so much quieter.  Please keep hold of my hand as you continue to lead me on this difficult, unfamiliar path.

THE FIXER

I’m going to begin at the end.

I have to because she wouldn’t expect any different from me.

On more than one occasion she said, “Wendy—I just CAN’T with you.” LOL. It actually reads harsher than it ever sounded out loud. I know now that she secretly loved saying things like that because it would provide her yet another opportunity to be the head “fixer” of our family. Even if it was something as small as the way I chose to begin my first blog.

About her.

You see, being the eldest of seven children, Suzi was the classic first born. I mean she was EPIC. There was not one of the usual stereotypical traits that she didn’t excel at. Reliable. Conscientious, Structured, Cautious, Nurturing, Controlling, Bossy, Overachiever, Fiercely Protective. God knew exactly what he was doing when he placed her there. In return, he granted her first couple years all to herself (which she would later describe as the happiest years of her life) before “all hell broke loose” which translated to the time the rest of us arrived. She had no say in the matter. It was done.

A “fixer” is defined as someone with an uncontrollable need to help, give, rescue and solve the problems of others. It was no coincidence that “Ray Donovan” was one of her absolute favorite TV shows. Of course it was. Suzi “fixed” like a boss. Sibling arguments, travel nightmares, job issues, financial problems, relationship troubles, illnesses, house hunting. No problem was too big or small for my sister. Although I’m not sure even a “fixer” manual teaches one how to handle two parents dying seven months apart. Our Suzanne did. It wasn’t right away. Even she needed time to collect herself. But she did. The thought of any of her six siblings needing help sprung her into action. God knew what he was doing.

I must go back to where I began. The End.

My last text message with Suzi was exactly one year ago today. It was a Thursday. It wouldn’t be my last conversation–we would talk on the phone the next day. This would be my last message. Earlier in the week I had texted her about a movie I was going to see. “Crazy, Rich Asians.” I initially mixed up the title. She politely corrected me. LOL. She had already seen it. She said she couldn’t wait to hear my reaction. On that Thursday she texted to ask if I had liked the movie. “It wasn’t what I expected,” I replied. “Wasn’t the wedding procession beautiful?” she asked. We went on to chat (text) about different scenes and characters until finally I wondered why she kept calling it a low budget movie. “It couldn’t possibly be,” I said. About a minute later she forwarded me an article all about the movie, how the producers had kept the budget low and all about where it was filmed etc. It was a fascinating article. She knew I would enjoy it. We texted back and forth a bit more until………..

“I’ll call you in the morning. No school–Jewish holiday. What time?” (me)

“10:30 Bill has a dentist appointment.” (her)

“Call my cell then. Haircut at 11.” (me)

Two days later she would be gone.

And in two days she will be gone a year.

I can’t dive too deep today, Suzi. I need to keep my heart closer to the surface where it feels safe. But it’s a start.

And I’m going to need your help to fix me.