Amy Lu's View

Our dog, StanLee, did something silly and cute yesterday and I immediately thought, “Oh, I can message my sister, Jenn, about this–she’ll enjoy this little StanLee story.” 

But I can’t message Jenn because she died on April 22, a little over a year after she was diagnosed with uterine cancer. Jenn was sixty-three years old, and just a couple of months shy of her sixty-fourth birthday, on June 16. 

Jenn and I “talked” a lot via Facebook messenger with the start of Covid, and even more after her diagnosis–sometimes several times a day. We talked about StanLee, and our cats, and my latch hooking, and her crochet and craft projects. Jenn listened patiently as I detailed my latest library and community theater drama. I told Jenn about the topics that came up at my church “lunch bunch” zoom gatherings. We talked about the British royal family, and celebrities I wasn’t aware of (including Pete Davison?). Jenn told me how much she liked looking at the nature photos I posted from the various parks I visited.

We had several conversations about the new television series “The Interview with the Vampire,” based on the book by Anne Rice that we both loved. We agreed that the new series was awesome, but that “The Mayfair Witches” (also based on Anne Rice books) was a hot mess. 

Jenn and I talked about how she was feeling and the treatments she was undergoing, and about her anxiety and depression, which were understandably heightened by having cancer. We talked about the health and housing concerns of Jenn’s husband, Steve, and how much she loved her daughter, Kate. We talked about my sister-in-law, Chris, and how awesome it was she was taking Jenn to her treatments, and gave each other updates about my brother, Charley, and Charley and Chris’s adult children Logan and Raegan. Jenn was especially intrigued by Logan’s goats. 

We shared memories of our mom, who died in 2000, and our dad, who died in 2013. 

These chats create a pretty good picture, or at least mosaic, of Jenn. Jenn was a tremendously talented crafter, and could really work magic with crochet. Jenn loved pets, especially her cats. Jenn was a fiercely loving and devoted mother, and loyal caretaker for her husband. Jenn loved the royals (I remember her getting up in the middle of the night to watch the wedding of Charles and Diana) and she was always more up on contemporary celebrities than I’ve been (if a celebrity hasn’t been in a sci-fi show I’m usually clueless). Jenn openly struggled (so I feel comfortable sharing this) with anxiety, depression, and other mental health issues her whole life.

And while we didn’t talk about it much in our recent chats, Jenn spent over twenty years (I think) as a teacher, most notably a kindergarten teacher. 

Jenn was funny, smart, creative and loving. 

To paraphrase a Todd Snider song lyric, “Yes, she was, but that’s not all she was.” People are complex and multilayered. Love is complicated. 

A wise friend who is a cancer nurse told me a few months ago that “If there is anything you want to say to your sister, you should probably say it now.” Good advice, but so hard to do. I did tell my sister that I loved her, but that feels inadequate. Hopefully, all those silly messages about StanLee and latch hook conveyed that “You’re important to me. You’re special and unique. We share a history and a bond that can’t be forgotten or replaced, even though we were sometimes frustrated and disappointed and annoyed with each other.”

It’s going to be hard to break my habit of messaging my sister.

It’s going to be hard not having my sister.