My Sister's Legacy: Strength, Resilience, and the Unanswered Questions of Cancer
Today would have been my only sister’s 57th birthday.
My only sibling, Wendy, died in 2023 from a very aggressive form of cancer.
My sister was one of the strongest people I know. She overcame so many things in her lifetime, as well as achieved wonderful things and was granted multiple blessings.
My sister was four years older than me. When she was about eight years old, my sister faced her first health challenge. Wendy had been wearing glasses for about a year, perhaps two, and her vision continued to deteriorate. It happened so quickly that she was tested for juvenile (Type 1) diabetes and other ocular diseases. The doctors could not find anything wrong, and as a last resort, had my sister at eight years old start wearing hard (glass) contact lenses to slow down the deterioration. This appeared to work, but I cannot imagine the difficulty of teaching an eight-year-old how to insert and take out hard contact lenses, as well as the care they required. Already, my sister was dealing with “adult” issues.
When she was in the fourth grade, my sister was tested and placed in an academically talented program. She was already a straight-A student, smart beyond her years, and it was recognized. Because of this, we only shared a school for one year – her fourth-grade year and my Kindergarten year. For her fifth-grade year, she went to another school, and we never shared a school at the same time again.
We shared a bedroom but fought like cats and dogs. I have a lot of regrets about that now. But kids are kids and sibling rivalry is real.
During her teen years, Wendy excelled at just about everything she did. She was a lifeguard at local swimming pools, and academics continued to come easily to her. She seemed to never study. I wished I found school as easy as she seemed to.
My sister was in the top five in her class at graduation, winning a full scholarship to a college in Georgia. That is where she met her husband. He was from a small town in Georgia, where they settled. She had become a schoolteacher and loved teaching. She made a difference with her students, and it showed. As one of her former students said, “She is the reason I became a teacher.” She also found her faith in Georgia, something we had not been raised with. She was blessed with two beautiful daughters and a wonderful set of in-laws.
In the Fall of 2021, my sister had a lump on her jawline checked out. A biopsy revealed that it was a very rare and aggressive form of cancer, called stage 3 high grade carcinoma ex pleomorphic adenoma of the parotid glands (CXPA). It was in her salivary gland. She had the gland and the surrounding lymph nodes removed just before Christmas of that year. She went through six weeks of radiation and chemotherapy multiple times per week. That March, she was declared “cured” – a PET scan found her to be cancer–free.
In the fall of 2022, Wendy began experiencing daily migraines that would not let up. On a day that Dave and I arrived in Georgia to spend Thanksgiving with the family, Wendy had gone to the emergency room. A CT scan found that the cancer had metastasized, and she had multiple lesions in her brain and on her skull. Two of the tumors in the brain were inoperable. She began treatment again, and the tumors all shrunk. At that point, Wendy was given a prognosis of about two years. She never reacted with fear; she was secure in her faith. She did what she did best: she began to plan and make preparations.
Last summer, she began to have trouble staying steady on her feet. By the end of September, she was placed in hospice care. The cancer had spread to her spinal column. She was given about two months to live. Sure enough, she was able to spend Thanksgiving with the family, and then she passed away in early December. I do not know anyone as strong as my sister.
My grieving period has been rather long. I vacillate between sadness, anger, loneliness, and fear. I recognize these are all appropriate feelings during the grieving process. I have a strong support group. And as I waver between these feelings, a nagging thought remains.
Where did the cancer come from? In all my years of doing genealogy, I have only come across three of our direct ancestors who died from a form of cancer:
Our 2nd Great Grandmother, Klara (Olzewska) Mey (1853-1920) died at age 66 from stomach cancer.
Our 2nd Great Grandfather, Johann August Gilda (1840-1913) died at age 63 of brain cancer.
Our 2nd Great Grandmother, Anne (Peace) Hampshire (1829-1878) died at age 49 of colon cancer.
CXPA does not seem to be related to these other cancers, and there does not seem to be a genetic component to it. Even though these cancers share some commonalities, they are distinct diseases with unique characteristics. Wendy theorized that her CXPA came from her drinking beverages with an artificial sweetener for most of her adult life.
I will continue to educate myself about CXPA, and hope it never strikes anyone in our family again. It is a cruel form of cancer (although they all are). It’s important in our genealogy research to take note of diseases that can be genetic and inherited by our descendants. Take note on death certificates of the cause of death of your ancestors and mark it down in your genealogy software. You may notice a trend, and you may be able to take steps to prevent the illness, or at least catch it in its very early stages to successfully treat it.
For today, though, I write this in an attempt to commune with my sister. Happy heavenly birthday, Wendy.
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Words that evoke wordless communion.
If I may..no regrets on fighting like cats and dogs. I'm one of 7 siblings, but with an age gap in-between that makes it seem like two families. The youngest four of us fought like cats and dogs...and the lesson is that you can fight like hell but still love deeply and long. We are among each others best friends. Sounds like this is what emerged for you and your sister.
Hugs.
This is a beautiful tribute to your sister as well as being informative. I have not started tracking the cause of death of my ancestors, but you have awakened the idea in me now.