A Chunk of My Childhood

My older sister Jean passed away on May 19 after losing her battle with cancer. I consider her one of my second moms, the other being my sister Jan who passed away in 1990. The call from my nephew Dinesh was not unexpected - her situation had been declining because she had inoperable brain cancer. But still, the thought of her never being around anymore is slowly sinking in. When she is buried tomorrow in Sri Lanka, the last bastion of 79 Mayfield Road, my childhood home will take with her a huge chunk of my childhood and youth.

To say she was a disciplinarian is an understatement. In fact, we were more scared of Jean finding out we did something wrong than we were afraid of our mom. As the youngest in my family, I have realized I have "youngest child syndrome" - I have to do everything better because everyone else has been there, done that and I have to be the entertainer if I want to be given a seat at the "adult table."

Some members of my family just accepted me, one tried to suppress me, but a few went out of their way to encourage my talents and showcasing them whenever we had company. Jean was one of those who was not shy about showing everyone that I was her favorite sister. She knew I hated to bathe in cold water, so she always boiled water to add to the water in the tank. Jean indulged my love of dressing up by sewing the most beautiful and decorative dresses and even got hats made to match my dresses for special occasions. She loved to take me shopping for my annual pair of dress shoes.

Jean was always proud of me - she went out of her way to show me off or speak of any of my accomplishments. She metered out advice on maintaining a high moral character, being wise with my money and even on looking after my children. The things that I found annoying when I was younger and trying to establish that I was capable of making my own decisions, made sense to me later in life as I realized that she cared for me as if I were her own daughter.

As soon as I heard she had been diagnosed with brain cancer, I knew I had to visit her while she was still able to enjoy my company. I was thrilled to see her face light up as she asked me to sing some of her favorite songs, retell some of her favorite jokes and dance. Yes, I was her official entertainer for the days that I spent with her - this time, holding nothing against her unsolicited advice, taking it all in stride. Those days will always live in my heart as our roles were reversed - I was the caretaker, Jean was the one who needed my protection and care.


I called her a few times before she passed away and sang to her. She could not respond - her voice was gone, but I knew that it made her smile. She had told me that she wanted to die without being a burden to anyone and asked me to pray for that. When I heard that she was partially paralyzed and could not speak, I prayed that God would grant her wish.

I kept in touch with her son and with my brother Reggie, checking on her situation, knowing I would never see her again on this earth. The night before Jean died, her son told me that she had been unresponsive to him, but when he mentioned "Molly is here," she had weakly turned her head to see if I was actually there. It confirmed what I always knew - even on her deathbed, she showed me that I was special. As she takes a chunk of my childhood with her, I know that I have just gained another guardian angel to watch over me until it is time for me to leave this earth.