Sister Symmetry: Remembering My Sister Margie

Sister symmetry feels like an anchor. Sisters are your allies, confidantes, competitors, champions, secret keepers, and part of you. You fight viciously one moment, and all forgotten the next. Sisterly love remains cherished forever.
My older sister Margie tragically passed away on August 1, 1990, after a twenty-year battle with anorexia and bulimia. 

I thought the sun rose and set by Margie, two years older, and followed her around like a lost puppy. Whatever she instructed me to do, I jumped to attention. We constantly rearranged her predominantly pink room despite the limitations because of wall space and the size of her furniture. The desk chair upholstered in a pink leather seat, pink Lucy (the Charles Schultz Peanuts character) banner that hung on the wall, and the tri-color pink Afghan crocheted by Gram, highlighted Margie’s choice of pink for her single room. Our young sister Jane and I shared a room.

When Margie’s illness took hold of her at age sixteen, I knew Margie was fading away. Her laugh, smile, intuitiveness, and gift of the gab remained. Mental illness held a stigma in the 1970s, a secret. My young age of fourteen unable to comprehend how Margie struggled and the impact on our family for twenty years. Margie “functioned,” only to relapse the following week. Frustrated at losing who I wanted Margie to be, not who had become, I wrestled with the ying and yang, yet the deep love for my sister never wavered.

Despite the inner jealousy I possessed of a pretty, popular sister who performed cartwheels on our front lawn and earned her a spot on the cheerleading squad, and never short of a boyfriend, Margie at no time made me feel inferior. Qualities I aspired to be but never had. Margie had a pulse on me, knowing me better than I knew myself, able to hear a tone in my voice or read my face. Sisters harbor closeness unique to no one else.

We attended the bicentennial fourth of July concert and fireworks in 1976 on the Esplanade in Boston. Typical of Margie’s antics, she made me laugh so hard I almost wet my pants. Her commentary on the crowd and improvisations,
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“Judy, check that one out. Do you think I should wear that next year?” and she shimmied.

Margie’s incessant talking embarrassed and drove me nuts. I’m sure I drove her crazy, too. If we were out together and some asked, 

“Are you girls twins?”

It seemed I’d won the lottery. To resemble my Margie–WOW!

Margie’s unique sense of style and flare, including her trademark white go-go boots and hat collection, remains iconic. A talented poet, beautiful handwriting, but not the neatest person.

I see in my daughters’ and grandchildren's reflections of Margie. I’m filled with mixed emotions of sadness and joy. Margie’s legacy lives on. Her life cut short, robbed by a tragic illness, but the memories of a beautiful, vibrant, courageous, funny, and smart sister prevail. My precious granddaughter’s name for Margie possesses spunk like Margie.

Margie, I will always love you.