Sonny and Sis

Sonny and Sis

It had been a while since Harry had seen his sister. He was looking forward to being with her again. Big Brother and Kid Sister, Harry and Jan Landers were always close. They were confidants, best friends, always there for each other when a comforting shoulder was needed to ease the tears. Dubbed “Sonny” and “Sis” by affectionate (if somewhat ineffective) parents, they carried their nursery school nicknames into the classrooms of academia, the conference rooms of Madison Avenue and the hierarchy of their own parenthood.

She was waiting for him by the flowering hibiscus at the top of the rise where they had been meeting for the past decade, and he broke into a run as he neared the crest of the slope. It had been a while since his last visit, and there were several ticklish personal problems he wanted to talk about with his understanding sister.

“Hello Jan. I missed you!” he cried out as he burst into the clearing where his sister waited.

           She appeared as she always did, a glow framing her face, her “aura of goodness” as Harry described it.

“I have so much to tell you Sis. I don’t know where to start.”

Harry caught himself in mid-sentence.  His sister was a sympathetic listener up to a point, but he knew if he lapsed into a self-pitying story, she would stop him with a tilt of her head and that querying look out of the corner of her eye, the one that said, “Get over yourself, brother dear,” without uttering a word of reproof. Harry smiled and calmed himself. Jan knew him so well!

           He was six years old when his sister was born, the older brother who quickly became protector, nurturer, and playfellow as their mother struggled through the haze of the depression that laid her prone on the mimosa-scented chaise lounge in the far corner of the dimly lit room she shared with the stranger they called Dad. Together, they flew through childhood and adolescence, applying balm to their skinned knees and broken hearts. By high school, the younger sister had become the teacher, her syllabus remaining unchanged even as the twists and turns of their hectic lives churned careers, marriages, and kids of their own into a Freudian stew. “Unconditional love, my dear brother, that’s the key.” Seven decades later, she was still providing instruction, demonstrating the subtle difference between empathy and compassion, expanding sympathetic understanding into practical plans for climbing out of the most tenacious emotional muck.

The words tumbled out in a torrent. Harry talked about the meeting that finally pushed him into retirement.

“I presented an entire campaign using old footage of Steve McQueen, and the ad manager, I swear, she was younger than my daughter, and she looks at me with her eyes rolled back into her head and says, ‘Who’s Steve McQueen? Which as you can imagine, stifled any tumultuous applause for my brilliant idea.”

He described the visit to Montana to see his grandchildren, the renovation he and his wife Ann had finally finished after months of fighting with the contractor, and the workshop they had taken together where they explored techniques for balancing the right and left hemispheres of the brain.

“It was fascinating stuff, Sis, a way to change negative beliefs into positive ones by reprogramming the subconscious.”

He chattered on while Jan listened patiently, her nod and gentle smile serving as dialogue until Harry wound down and fell into a thoughtful silence. When he spoke again, he was treading in deeper water.

“You know, Sis, I just turned seventy-eight.” As if startled by the news, his voice faltered. “I’m starting to count the years I have left.” He looked up at his sister, longing for the time when questions about the meaning of life were confidently answered with a couple of hits on the ganja bong. “I must confess, I’m a little bit frightened,” he acknowledged sheepishly. 

Jan embraced her brother. “Sonny, do you remember when I was diagnosed with breast cancer? At the time, I had yet to learn what the Buddhists call ‘our true nature.’ I was overwhelmed with fear of death’s unfathomable finality. But in time, I learned that by accepting death, you magnify the joy of being alive. I learned to accept the demise of the physical body as part of an ongoing, eternal cycle, and in the process, I became tranquil and unafraid, and all of life’s essences - every taste, smell, and sound - were enhanced.” Jan continued, “Believe it or not, my dear brother, recognizing your mortality can be a blessing. As time shrinks, insights expand.”

Harry recalled his visits to Jan’s house in Berkeley, where she had lived since graduating from UC Santa Cruz with a degree in women’s studies. With the end in sight, he had stepped up the frequency of his trips there, each visit more rewarding than the last. Jan definitely was not the docile patient curled up in the corner of her deathbed. Even when she was incapacitated, they had fun. Harry remembered bundling Jan in her wheelchair and taking to the streets of the lively college town, defying the steep hills of the university’s campus, sampling the coffee at the original Peete’s, and as giggling co-conspirators, not above using her plight to wheedle a scrumptious take-out order from Chez Panisse. No, Jan had never faltered. It inspired him to watch her friends, somber and weeping as they went into her room to console her, leave her bedside transformed, gentle of nature, iridescent with their love of life. When Jan lay sick, she had no room for affectation and vanity, no time for conversation laced with pretense and self-importance. What she offered in their place was understanding and forgiveness and love, absolute love.  Remarkably enough, months after the virulent malignancy was detected, she was in remission, walking again, her cheeks flushed with the springtide of renewed vigor.

“I hear you, Sis, but admit it, it’s a bitch getting older,” he sighed ruefully. “Nowadays, sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll is more like white wine and a good book.” Harry sat up and met his sister’s gaze. “I’m trying to restructure my life,” he said forcefully. “I’ve looked back to see what gave me pleasure and what gave me pain. I’ve spent enough time in the therapist’s office to understand that at my age it’s about being, not doing. But I feel so damn… irrelevant!” Harry slumped in resignation. “I don’t count anymore. Not with my kids, not in the world of business. I have no clout. What I think doesn’t count.”

“Here are the things that count, big brother,” Jan replied. “Compassion, perhaps above all, compassion.” She thought for a moment and then continued. “Being accepting, not being judgmental.” A final pause.  “Respect, being respectful of people based on who they are, focusing on their inner qualities not their outer appearance.” A beatific smile lit up her face, “It’s simple, Sonny. Life is about love. No matter what age you are, it’s all about love.”

           The pang of grief that stabbed him in the heart made Harry realize how much he missed his sister. He was glad he had decided to visit her.

“I’m trying to find my way spiritually, Sis, and it’s not easy for a cynical guy like me.” He knew she would understand.  It was so easy to talk with her. “My mind is always making trouble, jamming my brain with monkey chatter. In the middle of the deepest meditation, I start thinking about the lousy season the Bears are having or selling out my mutual funds.” Sonny held out his palms in exasperation. “I’m at the meditation center, bowing to a picture of the guru, and suddenly I’m picturing my butt sticking up in the air and thinking to myself, this is all bullshit.”

Jan grinned. “I know exactly what you’re saying,” she laughed. “Even when you’re deeply involved in what you’re doing, there’s one percent of you that you hold back, a little part of you that watches from afar and keeps you from disappearing into the process.” Harry concurred with a nod and wry smile as his sister continued.  “And yet, every once in awhile, it’s difficult to describe how or when the experience takes place, but every once in a while, meditating or chanting or just walking in nature – like that time we hiked the hoodoos in Bryce Canyon – you get a taste of pure love. It’s the edge of bliss, springing from the heart, evading intellect… and the experience is ecstatic.” Jan looked deep into her brother’s eyes. “Lock in those experiences, brother dear, and call upon them when you feel the world pressing in around you.”

Jan’s words began to fade. Harry recognized the wisdom they contained but had to admit he was pretty much stuffed with guru talk and new age woo-woo. It was great to be with his sister, but he was tired of the conversation.

He signaled for the limo waiting in the distance, instructing the driver that he was ready to leave. “It’s time to go, sister dear. I have to catch a plane back to Chicago.”

As always, she understood. Her love for him never wavered.

“Have a safe flight, brother dear,” she said, kissing him gently. Her eyes told him it was okay to leave. “The miles won’t keep us apart,” she whispered. “We’ll always be together.”

Harry found a smooth, rounded pebble and placed it on her gravestone. “See you soon, Sis. I love you,” he breathed his silent goodbye into the late afternoon air. Try as he might, he could not choke off the tears that flowed uncontrollably.