On the Death of a Sister: Remembering Sheila

Last week was almost a really good week. So many things had gone right. A work project finished; I’d preached well on Sunday (well that’s what I thought); a lovely lunch with the family; a celebration of a friends 70th birthday (his wife wrote such a funny, lovely poem about him); and lots to look forward to – Rosemary’s birthday this week, and a trip to the US for a holiday the week after. A really lovely week, and then on Sunday night we got the news – my sister Sheila had died.

Sheila, my oldest sister, the one who picked me up from nursery school at the end of her primary school day and took me home on the bus, and scolded me because I would always sing all the way home, and that embarrassed her because she was just 10 and shy and my voice was loud and tuneless. Sheila, who taught me that a boring sandwich could come to life if you added cheese and onions chips to it. Sheila, who taught me how to make Sloppy Joes, my one and only cooking skill (true, my family thinks she could have done a better job). Sheila, whose lovely home we used to host Rosemary and my engagement party back in 1980. Sheila, with whom I explored Yosemite, marvelling at the Redwoods and gasping at those climbing the sheer cliff face of El Capitan. Sheila, who had been an early childhood teacher, and then, because her kindness and patience was limitless, trained further to be a special needs teacher. Sheila, who had 3 children and 2 grandchildren and a husband – all loved beyond measure. Sheila, who though living on the other side of the world, has always been there and who was always going to be there because her health was perfect and was something that just came naturally to her. Sheila, who was the family member I thought would live to be 100. Except she didn’t. She died on the weekend, only three quarters of the way there.

It took a sudden turn a month ago. A while before she had a fall on a holiday in Norway and tore her right shoulder cuff, but treatment wasn’t helping and it kept getting weaker and worse. An alert physiotherapist suggested that it could be that the rotor cuff wasn’t the main issue, and that she should see a neurologist. She did, and then the devastating news – she had ALS (or Motor Neuron Disease as it’s more commonly named in Australia). Knowing it to be a terminal disease they asked the specialist how long she had. He assured Sheila and her husband Chris (they’ve been married for comfortably over half a century) that this was in the early stages and that on average people live 2-5 years from diagnosis. He was one wildly optimistic specialist. She had a month.

Some of you noticed that my blog a few weeks back Because God is with You had a more personal ring. That’s because it did. I wrote it after hearing of Sheila’s diagnosis – I wrote it for her. In it I said ‘The Psalmist famously writes, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for you are with me” (Ps 23:4)… Imagine looking at the old enemy death and saying “you really don’t frighten me, for God is with me.”‘

And God was with her. True, she didn’t get the 2-5 years the specialist thought likely. Just a month. A severe mercy, to use C.S. Lewis’ famous phrase. For Motor Neuron Disease is more than a little challenging… Mercy indeed, but we are left stunned, and shocked and bereft.

But God is with us, and with her, and with you. So why not take some time this week to remind the people who are special to you how much you love them? Because not everyone lives to be a hundred…

And now that she has gone I have one less reader of this blog…

Nice chatting…

Photo of Sheila on a walk we had together in the Great Smoky Mountains, Tennessee in 2020.

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