SIgnificance of this day in so many lifes for so many reasons, an anecdote

[Guest guest]

I am aware that today is the 67th anniversary of Pearl Harbour Day.I am so old that I can remember it; I was 4.5 years old at the time.

Of course, today is a day devoted to all veterans of that war, and I

should say to all victims of that war, holocaust and nuclear bombing

of Japan, included. This post, however, is not about war, nor politics.

It is about today.

My eldest sister, Olivia Jane (aka "OJ") was born on December 7,

1922; she died in August of 2000, at the age of 78, within the year

that our mother died at the age of 103 (yet!). As my mother was

named Olivia, Jane was always called by her middle name. She

told me, when I was just a little kid, that she just knew that after

the attack on Pearl Harbour, that her birthday would never be the

same--and, for her, indeed it was not. Bad enough that it was

in December, neatly eclipsed by Chanukah, Christmas the Hajj,

and the winter solstice!

My sister had had bacterial meningitis in the pre-antibiotic era,

when she was seven years old. She suffered lasting damage

from it--rather similar to post-polio syndrome. Her hearing was

never the best, and she could not bend from the waist, and her

fingers and her toes were fixed in place. So, when I acquired

MS, she definitely sympathized, and genuinely so, despite her

illusion that I was going permanently blind, which I was not.

As I now know, having gone over all her papers with her children,

after her death, she had had Type I diabetes since early childhood.

The problem was, that our mother had been told only that Jane

had "ketoacidosis," which mother did not understand the meaning

of, until I developed cystic fibrosis-related diabetes when I was

about five or six. Finally, Jane, who was 14.5 years older than I,

was sort of diagnosed. Fortunately, for both of us, our mother

was a "healthy eating" fiend and did not even keep sugar or

sugar sweetened foods in the house. So, we did well.

However, my sister was suffering from what was then called

Manic-Depressive disorder or Bi-Polar disorder, as it is now

called. She was a tenacious smoker. And, although she did

give up drinking (she had toxic re-action to alcohol; a small

amount would turn her into a lunatic), she smoked her way

right into two heart attacks, and ultimately cancer of the in

testines, which was found too late to treat. During her last

year, she kept threatening to go "before Mother does."

As it happened, our mother died first, peacefully, in her

sleep, of late onset Alzheimer's disease.

So, for me, I think of the older first cousins of mine who

served and/or also died due to WWII, of the many veterans

of all wars, and of my sister, who was never, ever, happy.

The ultimate showdown came when our mother, who was

living decades before the present in her memory loss,

could no longer recognize my sister, nor me, but, suffered

from the illusion that I, her youngest of six, was her dearest

friend from the University of Washington, where our mother

had gotten her degrees in music, and where she had met

our father, who got his law degrees there.

Mother had decided that I was her friend, Lillian, and there

was no talking her out of it. This, of course, made Jane

even more depressed. Mother "rejected" her, and welcomed

me, and Jane was once again, saddened and felt rejected.

She had had three marriages which failed; I had one which

went well, despite my husband's early death to liver failure.

If you are still with me, here, I write all this to explain why this

day brings up so many feelings in me. I can remember hearing

President lin Roosevelt addressing the nation after the

bombing of Pearl Harbour, and my parents' re-action to it.

And, I can remember my sister, in tears, because this had

happened on HER birthday.

So, I married a man who was a holocaust survivor and whose

birthday was July 4th. He told me that until he was about eight

years old that he had always thought that all those fireworks

were just for him! To the end of his days--and we lived in the

hills of Berkeley--if the fog rolled in and he was deprived of his

sacred fireworks (from five sites) as seenfrom our living room--

he just sulked. And each December 7, my sister sulked.

So, this is a very odd day for me, and for my brothers, as we

remember our sister and what became, for her, of her birthday,

and my husband, who just lived for all those fireworks.

For me, however, perhaps the saddest day--and this is per

haps being a bit self-indulgent--the saddest day was when I

was diagnosed with MS, and the real meaning of it was

explained to me at Stanford. It was September 19th, our parents'

anniversary, and birthday of my closest friend.. I guess the dif

ference is that I am not given to sulking: griping and carrying on

a bit, yes, but sulking, no.

So, today as I think of all the veterans of all the wars, of all who

have served our country so bravely and honorably, no matter

what one thinks of wars and politics, I also think of my sister.

And then I think of each of us, with MS/whatever, and what day

might mark an anniversary for each of us. I am most fond of

the day on which my husband proposed to me: Valentine's Day,

and he gave me a card on that day each year, on which he

had written, with his gorgeous calligraphic hand: "Will you

marry me?"

Whatever this date and this day may remind you of, or not

remind you of, we here, are pulling for your health, and

thinking of each of you, as all of us are surely veterans of

a very different kind of battle: Battle MS and related neuro

logical conditions.

O.K., it took me awhile to get to the point. I hope that you

do not mind.

Love to each and every one of you,

n