On September 8, 1963 my sister, Carmen Elizabeth was born.
She was, and would remain the only girl in our family. She was so adorable, brown haired, brown eyed and had a great smile.
She was less than a year younger than I, and we were like the 'best of pals' as kids.
She'd allow me to put beans in her ears, or get her to put peas in her nose or carrots on top of her teeth, and make me laugh.
She was born in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. We lived there when we were very small, returning to southwestern Ontario, less than a year later.
To think: WOW, Carmen's 40th Birthday would be today.
March 1967: Toronto Maple Leafs are on TV, giving it all they got.
My Mom, myself and my sister are at a small ice capades show put on by members of the Armed Forces in CFB Borden, north of Toronto. We were pretty small, but you know kids, we fidgit and cannot sit still no matter how much Mom tries to satiate our wants. I guess we fuss a bit too much and Mom decides to take us home.
This walk would prove to be unforgettable.
As we walk across a snow covered field, we reach the main roadway and proceed to walk along the road, as the sidewalks were not ploughed, and the banks were quite high. The only accessable sidewalk that was ploughed, was a couple of minutes away. We walk along. Mom in front, Carmen in front of her, and me tagging along behind.
In the distance, a car approaches. I vaguely remember seeing it, and it was approaching us, but on the other side of the road.
Then all of a sudden: WOOOOSHH! Thump....and before I can figure out what has happened, I'm knocked backwards, and into the snowbank.
I stand-up, and my mother is in a panic looking for my sister.
I turn around, she is laying like a snow angel, behind me unconscious. I go to Mom, tugging on her coat, asking her what's wrong...and all I can see is the navy blue night sky bespeckled with stars and my mother, screaming out into the night sky: H E L P ! !
The man who hit us, was under the influence of alcohol. He hit us, then realized....oops...'I hit someone', and he backed up, realizing what he had done. He approaches us....and he tries to calm my mother down, but it is impossible, and of course....I start to get upset....yet Carmen does not utter a word, and she's limp when Mom tries to pick her up and well.....you get the picture.
In moments, cars stop, people get out of their vehicles, then the on base ambulance (those old GMC van from the 60s) arrives, then later......my father. I see him briefly. He was at home watching the Leafs game, but disappears.
Our neighbour, Mr. Yen - takes me to the on-base hospital, where my mother was taken.
I am brought in. My mother is on what appears to be an observation table. She has a huge purple bruise on her body. She sees me, calls me over....and I remember her asking someone to get her coat, and she reached in, and handed me a "Sweet Marie" chocolate bar.
Mr. Yen, then takes me to Barrie. Barrie is the city where my sister has been taken. Mr. Yen has a beautiful Oldsmobile. I sit in the backseat, and this old 1960s V8 Olds has speakers in-between the two big back seats. I hear on the car radio: Simon & Garfunkle's: Mrs. Robinson.
We arrive at the Royal Victoria Hospital in Barrie, Ontario. It's getting late in the night. The last thing I see of my sister Carmen: her jacket on a stretcher, and (forgive the explitives) that she had soiled herself on the stretcher. Then the stretcher moved out of my view by a nurse wearing those old fashioned nurses hats (they don't wear those anymore).
Mr. Yen, takes me by the hand, and takes me back to the car. We drive back to the army base where we live. We arrive at our PMQ, and there's a flury of activity, so many people, and I'm so overwhelmed. My 2 youngest brothers are asleep upstairs, and one of the ladies, takes me by the hand, and then I realize who she is. She is my favourite friend that Mom has. She tries to tell me what has happened. I sort of know, but I'm just overwhelmed.
The next day, my sister Carmen, is pronounced dead. She died of serious trauma to her body.
My sister, and then best pal, is gone.
Interestingly enough, my mother does a very bold and brave gesture. She allows, someone from the C.N.I.B. (Canadian National Institute for the Blind) to obtain permission to retrieve my sister's corneas, so that someone can see. I thought that was really cool.
So, here I sit, on Monday night, here at home, soon to turn 41, and the date: September 8th sort of hits home: my sister would have been 40, had she been alive today.
I'm not sad. I am just being reflective and think about what it would have been like to have a sister.
All I had, were brothers. Lots of those.
To those of you, who have a sister: hug them for me, would you?
Love,
Rayzorblade