I wrote the following story on January 9th, 2021. I rarely share personal stories; however, in this second year of CoVid 19, finding hope each day, or rhyme or reason to life, has become more important than ever. I hope this story shows that we are never really alone as we struggle. We are loved and cared for beyond the realm in which we exist.

My Sister Arlene

The sweet girl in the photo was my sister, Arlene. On January 27th, 1952, Arlene, at age 15, died in a tragic house fire that also took the lives of my two brothers, Donald, 16, and Leonard, 11. I was 3 ½ years old at the time.

This past week, I received an email with the name of the graduate history student with whom I have been paired as part of a memoir writing project at McMaster University. For the past few days, I have been mulling over ideas of how we might tackle the many decades of my life. No doubt, the topic of my early childhood will come into focus. While I have lived in the shadow of “the fire” my entire life, I remember nothing of what I saw or heard that tragic night; and I have no memories of my siblings to call my own. I know them only from the stories that my mom shared about joyful times before the fire when we were a happy family of six. I know with assurance, though, that I was especially close to Arlene. A reporter covering the story of the fire quoted me as asking, “Where’s my pal?”

Preparing for the memoir project has brought to the surface deeply buried feelings and has reminded me of the void that losing my siblings created in my life. To comfort my overwrought mind, last night before bedtime I silently said, “I love and miss you, Arlene,” hoping somehow she would hear my message.

Today, I picked up my mail that had been sitting in the mailroom for over a week. In the bundle of mail, I was surprised to find an envelope that appeared to be a late Christmas card. I didn’t recognize the return address from London, Ontario and wondered if the card had been delivered in error; but then I remembered I used to visit cousins in London when I was a child. “Maybe it is a card from a long lost relative,” I pondered; so I opened it. I didn’t recognize the sender’s name and the message to “Carol” did not seem to apply to me; but within the first card, there was a second card sealed with green tape. On the green tape, printed in bold black letters, was the name “ARLENE”. I gasped.

You may think that receiving this card was a mere coincidence; but I know in my heart that it was a sign from my sister letting me she know she had received my message.