I remember realizing that radios play songs more than once...

I was sitting in my sister's bedroom, probably 6 or 7 years old. I don't know exactly what I was doing there, but she hadn't kicked me out yet--let's say I was watching her brush her long, black hair. She had her little transistor radio turned to one of the stations that Dad thought was stupid (he never actually forbade us from much, but he'd let us know his opinion of our activities at every opportunity).

A song began that I'd heard before! I remembered it because it was about my favourite boxer, Mohammed Ali. Dad would let me watch the boxing matches on TV with him, and everybody knew Mohammed Ali was the King! "Mohammed, Mohammed Ali, floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee..."

"Carol!! I've heard this song before!! I am such a lucky duck!!"

"Yeah, they play it all the time."

"They play songs more than once?"

Carol threw back her head and laughed her teen-age laugh. "Oh, Paula, you crack me up!"

I sat on her bed listening to the rest of the song, marvelling at how much there was about the world that I still didn't know.

I remember making my mom cry in 1981.....

My friend, Raychelle, from church was heading into Lethbridge with her mom for a shopping day, and they invited me to join them! How exciting!! Raychelle was one of my more thrilling friends, full of paradoxes. She was very popular at school, yet she was a faithful church attender. She was nice to me, yet she was one of the beautiful people. It didn't add up! Blond feathered hair and sunny smile, she was an angel to me of kindness. I got permission from my mom, and off we went for the day.

We went into all kinds of great shops, trying on all the trendy clothing. I could almost imagine I was one of the beautiful people, hanging out with Raychelle in the mall. Her mom looked at her watch. "Girls, it's time to head to the hair salon. Raychelle's appointment is in a few minutes."

Raychelle was whisked off by the beautician. As I sat in the salon with Mrs. West (names changed just to be safe), we began pouring through the hair-do magazines. "Look at this cute cut, Paula. I bet it would look adorable on you!" It was short, spiky on the top, with little long wisps of hair at the back. So new-wave! I agreed, yes, it would look good on me, in some other lifetime. "Paula, if you get this hair cut, I'll pay for it. You need a new look." Mrs. West said with finality.

Huh? What? My hair was just past my shoulders, long and thick and with no style at all. I usually just ignored it. A radical short funky hair cut was mine for the taking? I felt like I was on a game show. "Monty, I'll take door number 2" "Congratulations, young lady, you've won your first stylish hair cut!"

Soon it was my turn in the chair. I was trembling with excitement as the chunks of hair fell to the floor. I was being transformed! I was one of the beautiful people, but even better because my haircut was daring and unusual!! When the beautician was done, I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't believe it. I looked like someone from Friday Night Videos. I looked like I lived in a city. Wow!

When I got back from the drive, after thanking Raychelle and Mrs. West profusely, I bounced into the house, thrilled to show my family my new do. My mom took one look at me and started crying. "What have you done?"

"Mrs. West payed for it, Mom. I didn't pay for it." Why was she upset? I spent no money!

"But Carol's wedding is coming up in the summer and you girls were all going to have long hair!" More tears. This was the first I'd heard of the long hair plan. I slunk to my room and sat on my bed, angry and sad and deflated.

Carol, my sister, came into my room and sat beside me. "I love your new haircut. I think it makes your eyes pop out. You look beautiful." We hugged. I did not understand my mother at all.

I remember my sister talking to me about love...

I was hanging out in my bedroom way back in, oh...1977 or '78. My oldest sister, Carol, who was home for a visit, waltzed into my bedroom and flopped onto my bed.

"Love is grand!"

I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Look at the hat he bought me at the Calgary Stampede! It was really expensive!!" He had bought her a cowboy hat. I tried it on, but at the age of 11 or 12, my head was already much bigger than Carol's, and it perched on top of my hair like a novelty hat. We laughed.

"He makes me feel so wonderful! I just want to spend all of my time with him! One day you will fall in love, too, Paula, and you will see what I am talking about." She sighed happily, then floated out of the room.

I sat down on my bed, wondering if there was someone out there who would buy me a cowboy hat one day, and would that actually make me float like Carol.

I hoped so.

I remember hearing that my sister had been killed in a car accident...

I was 18, it was 1984, and I was working in Banff all summer as a chambermaid and evening desk clerk. One morning as we were getting ready for work (all us chambermaids lived in the same house), my boss, Ralph, came to the door. This was highly unusual; he NEVER came over to the house, especially not in the morning. One of my roommates came and said, "Ralph wants to talk to you, Paula". I think we all thought that I was going to get fired, though I couldn't for the life of me think of what I had done to deserve being fired.

Ralph looked so uncomfortable, I knew something terrible had happened. "Paula, your father called the hotel this morning. Your sister and her husband were killed in a car accident." He chose his words so carefully...

I started crying immediately, uncontrollably. "Which sister?"

Ralph looked like he was going to be sick. "I'm sorry, I don't know. Your father is coming to pick you up so you can be with your family. Your job is safe here, don't worry about us at all."

I stumbled to my room and grabbed my photo album and began looking at the pictures of my older sisters. Kathy and Jim or Carol and Bill? Kathy or Carol? Which sister was dead? I sat there crying for hours. It takes a long time to drive from Vauxhall to Banff, it takes hours and hours. As my dad drove to get me, I sat there crying over my photo album, not daring to pick which sister I'd rather live without. I had never felt so alone in all my life.

When Dad arrived, he smothered me in a tearful hug before I could say anything. I pulled away. "Dad, Ralph didn't know...which sister of mine is dead?"

"It was Carol. Carol and Bill."

It felt a little better to know who I was grieving for. Those three or four hours where I knew I had experienced a loss but didn't know who was gone were very strange. Very strange. I wouldn't wish that on anybody.

If anyone chooses to comment, you don't have to tell me how sorry you are or anything. Carol was 28 when she died...she would have been 50 on May 20th. I miss her still, but life goes on, doesn't it? I passed the 28 year mark, and I almost felt guilty for outliving Carol. It felt like uncharted territory, being older than my oldest sister. I realize that these are illogical thing to feel, but when emotions are involved, logic often takes a coffee break. Grieving is a strange, strange cloak, and once you've been given it to wear, it is always a part of your wardrobe, and on some days, you take it out and try it on just to see if it still fits...it usually does. It's the one piece of clothing I don't think you ever outgrow.

2002-12-06 - 8:19 a.m.

I remember Carol crying on Christmas Eve. She was my sister, a decade older than me, and I adored her. We were all at Grandma B.'s for the holiday. Carol was a college student at the time and low on funds, so she decided to make Nanaimo Bars for our brother-in-law, Jim's, Christmas present. I don't know if you've ever made Nanaimo Bars, but they are kind of fussy to make. When Carol took them out of the fridge and tried to cut them up into squares, the whole pan crumbled into a gooey mess. Carol burst into uncontrollable tears!


I was thirteen or fourteen, and I remember wondering why she was so upset. I did a lot of baking, and I never cried if a cake didn't rise or a jello didn't set.


Carol has been dead now for eighteen years, and I still remember her shoulders heaving, the sobs wracking her body. She must have felt completely inadequate. "I can't even make Nanaimo Bars!" I would love to talk to her about that now. She was completely unafraid to hide her emotions, unconcerned of what we might think. She became more human to me that day, brought down off the pedestal I viewed her on...but I became more fully human, too.


Thank you, Carol.