My youngest sisters name at birth was Jennie Eva Estrada.
I remember my mother saying once that it was suppose to be plain Jenny; but mom didn't know how to spell and it ended up Jennie. (Guess that's a hereditary thing after all.) The name Eva was for her paternal grandmother.
The odd thing is that half the time when I am talking about her, or even to her, I'm not sure what to call her.
When she was very young, everyone called her what mom did; Eva. When she turned about 12 or so, she let us all know that she would prefer to be called Jennie, rather than Eva. While trying to change what you call a sibling is hard anyway, it was really hard for me as I seldom called her Eve to start out with.
My step-father attempted to teach all his children some Spanish when they were little. We all knew what most animals, body parts, and food was called. When Jennie Eva was around 2, he was trying to teach her to say horse.
Horse in Spanish is caballo (pronounced: Ka bye yo). Jeannie Eve had trouble getting her mouth around the word so Ernest would pronounce it really slowly for her, Ka Bye Yo. Being the I'll-do-this-my-way type of person she is, she selected to only use the last 2 syllables and a horse became a Bye Yo. Or, really more of a Byjo with her baby accent. Soon, every living animal was a Bjyo.
It didn't matter how much time Ernest spent trying to correct her, an animal was a Byjo and a Byjo they would remain. (Those of you who know her, shouldn't really be surprised by this.)
Some how, whether from our attempt to pick on Ernest or from her repeated use of the phrase, by the time she was 3, Jennie Eve had officially become Byjo to her immediate family. And as far as I am concerned, she still is.
So . . .
Byjo is in her 30s now and I am still trying to decide what to call her. When I'm talking to family members she is my Byjo. They know who I'm talking about and no one blinks; but they don't always call her by that name.
When I talk to friends of mine about her, I try not to use Byjo because if they ever meet her she will introduce herself by another name.
When I am talking to her I usually call her Byjo. But if I'm at her house surrounded by her friends or in laws I freeze every time I go to address her. I know they do not call her Byjo. But for a moment, I can't remember if she's Eva or Jennie. So I stumble.
I've been doing this most of our adult lives; stumbling over her name.
This weekend we drove to see Byjo and her family and even when trying to tell Will (my son) what to call her, I stumbled. "This is your Aunt . . ."
Now, I have a notoriously bad memory. Next to my notorious bad spelling. But I hope she never things I truly FORGET her name.
For my baby sister is special. She has overcome a lot in her life and has made for herself a life and family worth being proud of. She's smart, beautiful, and fun to be around. She's always ready to help any one that needs it. And there is no end to the limits she will go to for her family. No, she's not perfect . . . she is related to me after all.
And regardless of whether I stumble over her name in an fool-hearted attempt to make her more comfortable in different situations; whether I call her Eva, Jennie, or Byjo; I always call her sister. And I always love her.
Showing posts with label sister. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sister. Show all posts
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Sad Soul Laid to Rest
My sister committed suicide last week and we will lay her to rest on Thursday.
As expected, I feel a great loss and sadness at the chance to never see or interact with her again. I keep recalling special times we spent together, moments I will never forget.
She came to visit me and my new husband the first year we celebrated Christmas. My husband gave me a bowling ball, which of coarse did't have holes drilled yet. As a new bowler I was stumped. I had no idea why there was no holes and didn't want to insult my new spouse by saying anything. But Becky understood immediately and started laughing. By the time it was over, all three of us were laughting so hard it hurt.
When Becky was still in her late teens she would always complain to me and my (now ex) husband about not having a middle name. It made her feel like no one had cared enough to give her one. I have to admit it was odd. There are 5 of us siblings and all of us have middle names except Becky. Anyway, my husband jockingly told her that he would give her a middle name and decread that from that day forth she would be known as "Becky Sue". It stuck; a lot longer than the ex.
About 5 years ago I went up and spent a long weekend with Becky. I'm a pretty staid, unassuming, boring person . . . but Becky brought out something wild and free in me. In everyone really. She took me to my first Kariokie bar and we drank too much. So much, in fact, that while dancing together on the dance floor, I slapped her ass when she wiggeled it at me. We got back to the table and she looks as me real sober (as sober as someone who's had 10 Smirnoff Ice can look) or maybe that was as sober as I (with 10 Smirnoff Ice under my own belt) could see. And she asked, "Did you spank me?" I told her, "Damb straight. And if you shake your bootie at me again, I'll do it again."
Becky was almost always "on" when people she cared about were around. She would do her best to make you laugh and enjoy being with her. She was the most appreicative person of any small gift or courtecy bestowed upon her. And she got enjoyment from the small things.
Becky worked at retirement homes her whole life and even though the work was hard she wouldn't ever do anything else for long. She LOVED the elderly and taking care of them. She'd spend her days off running errands for them and buy them little gifts from her own pocket.
She LOVED Little House on the Prarie. She use to watch every rerun she could find and she eventually ended up buying the entire series on DVD. When she came home from work, she'd plop in a story to watch. I think she was drawn to the simple, close-knit family that always supported each other. And the happily every after.
Knowing this about her, you are probably wondering why she would commit suicide. The truth is Becky had a damaged soul. One of the clearest memories I have of her as a small child is her sitting in the doorway hitting her bare thigh with a heel so hard it was bruising. She didn't cry and she didn't stop when I asked her to. She couldn't have been more than 4. She was a wild teenager and ended up pregnant at 15. She married the father and that lasted less than a year. She ended up living in a goverment spounsed apartment with a baby that she didn't know how to take care of. Due to abuse charges my mother managed to get custody of her child away from her.
Becky immediatly got preganant again and was talked into giving away that child and getting her tubes tied; at 17. She was always drawn to men that abused her. She would have long standing relationships with them. The first ten years or so, she would call me crying and telling me what was happing and I'd beg her to leave. To get help. Tell her she was worth more. She never did and one after another she kept repeating the cycle.
Drugs, alcohol, sex, abuse; that was pretty much her life during her 20s. She seamed to settle down some in her thirties, but the basic condition of her soul never changed. She deaply loved her son and always regretted his loss. She tried to be in his life as much as our mom would let, but to also protect herself from the ongoing pain. She regretted not being able to ever have and raise a child.
Along the way she became a "cutter". She tried to explain to me that it wasn't about hurting her self, it was just about releasing the pressure. She said there was so much pain she had to let a little of it out. She attempted suicide several times in her life; pills, slit her writs, etc. But it was always when or where she would be immediatley found and taken care of. She talked about suicide often. Becky probably called me 15-20 times over the course of her life telling me she was thinking about it. I'd stop what I was doing and just talk to her.
While she smiled, danced, flirted her way through life . . . Becky was essentially a sad and damaged soul from the day of her birth. When I think of her now I feel a deep sense of peace and I know that FINALLY she is no longer in pain.
Now I just have to learn to live without her.
As expected, I feel a great loss and sadness at the chance to never see or interact with her again. I keep recalling special times we spent together, moments I will never forget.
She came to visit me and my new husband the first year we celebrated Christmas. My husband gave me a bowling ball, which of coarse did't have holes drilled yet. As a new bowler I was stumped. I had no idea why there was no holes and didn't want to insult my new spouse by saying anything. But Becky understood immediately and started laughing. By the time it was over, all three of us were laughting so hard it hurt.
When Becky was still in her late teens she would always complain to me and my (now ex) husband about not having a middle name. It made her feel like no one had cared enough to give her one. I have to admit it was odd. There are 5 of us siblings and all of us have middle names except Becky. Anyway, my husband jockingly told her that he would give her a middle name and decread that from that day forth she would be known as "Becky Sue". It stuck; a lot longer than the ex.
About 5 years ago I went up and spent a long weekend with Becky. I'm a pretty staid, unassuming, boring person . . . but Becky brought out something wild and free in me. In everyone really. She took me to my first Kariokie bar and we drank too much. So much, in fact, that while dancing together on the dance floor, I slapped her ass when she wiggeled it at me. We got back to the table and she looks as me real sober (as sober as someone who's had 10 Smirnoff Ice can look) or maybe that was as sober as I (with 10 Smirnoff Ice under my own belt) could see. And she asked, "Did you spank me?" I told her, "Damb straight. And if you shake your bootie at me again, I'll do it again."
Becky was almost always "on" when people she cared about were around. She would do her best to make you laugh and enjoy being with her. She was the most appreicative person of any small gift or courtecy bestowed upon her. And she got enjoyment from the small things.
Becky worked at retirement homes her whole life and even though the work was hard she wouldn't ever do anything else for long. She LOVED the elderly and taking care of them. She'd spend her days off running errands for them and buy them little gifts from her own pocket.
She LOVED Little House on the Prarie. She use to watch every rerun she could find and she eventually ended up buying the entire series on DVD. When she came home from work, she'd plop in a story to watch. I think she was drawn to the simple, close-knit family that always supported each other. And the happily every after.
Knowing this about her, you are probably wondering why she would commit suicide. The truth is Becky had a damaged soul. One of the clearest memories I have of her as a small child is her sitting in the doorway hitting her bare thigh with a heel so hard it was bruising. She didn't cry and she didn't stop when I asked her to. She couldn't have been more than 4. She was a wild teenager and ended up pregnant at 15. She married the father and that lasted less than a year. She ended up living in a goverment spounsed apartment with a baby that she didn't know how to take care of. Due to abuse charges my mother managed to get custody of her child away from her.
Becky immediatly got preganant again and was talked into giving away that child and getting her tubes tied; at 17. She was always drawn to men that abused her. She would have long standing relationships with them. The first ten years or so, she would call me crying and telling me what was happing and I'd beg her to leave. To get help. Tell her she was worth more. She never did and one after another she kept repeating the cycle.
Drugs, alcohol, sex, abuse; that was pretty much her life during her 20s. She seamed to settle down some in her thirties, but the basic condition of her soul never changed. She deaply loved her son and always regretted his loss. She tried to be in his life as much as our mom would let, but to also protect herself from the ongoing pain. She regretted not being able to ever have and raise a child.
Along the way she became a "cutter". She tried to explain to me that it wasn't about hurting her self, it was just about releasing the pressure. She said there was so much pain she had to let a little of it out. She attempted suicide several times in her life; pills, slit her writs, etc. But it was always when or where she would be immediatley found and taken care of. She talked about suicide often. Becky probably called me 15-20 times over the course of her life telling me she was thinking about it. I'd stop what I was doing and just talk to her.
While she smiled, danced, flirted her way through life . . . Becky was essentially a sad and damaged soul from the day of her birth. When I think of her now I feel a deep sense of peace and I know that FINALLY she is no longer in pain.
Now I just have to learn to live without her.
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