Jeanne Marie

The bouquet included lilacs from Colburn, three different colors of Iris from my garden and two deep purple lupine from my pond. For once, I actually did a decent job putting it together. The fragrance from a sweet-smelling blue Iris began to overpower the house as everyone agreed that the arrangement was beautiful.

Debbie volunteered to hold the bouquet in the car while she, Mother and I drove to Pinecrest Cemetery. Mother brought along some grass shears in case we couldn't find the grave. It's located right across from the Ed Hawkins family home, so we always know where to park.

"We look for Baby Bergstrom and Baby Best," Mother announced as we got out of the car. I figured it would be easy to find, since grass around all the baby grave markers had been trimmed last year. Well, they didn't get around to that manicuring job this year. So, as we walked among the graves, I noticed a marker for a Baby Nordgaarden. Had never seen that one in past years.

Mother found Baby Best and instructed us to start pressing the grass to its left because Jean Marie's grave must be close by. Sure enough, on my first connection with the ground, I could feel something solid. Debbie and I started ripping up the grass around it. As the tiny metal-framed window began to appear, I remembered it hadn't been all that readable last year, and regretted that I hadn't brought my glasses.

"Who is this person?" Debbie finally asked, while pulling up grass.

"She was our sister," I quickly responded, feeling a bit embarrassed that we had assumed Debbie knew all about Jean Marie. Mother went on to explain that she was born in 1950 and had lived for only a few weeks. She died from what was called "crib death" at the time. Mrs. Best, down the road, had had a baby at the same time. It was a boy, Mother told us. The Best baby lived for two months.

After clearing the grass completely away from the grave, Debbie's sharp eyes confirmed that this was, indeed, the marker for Jeanne Marie Brown, my sister. We placed the beautiful flowers on the grave, and Mother made a quick comment aimed at her fourth daughter. "There you are, Jeanne Marie, " she said, uttering her name with a French flavor.

I stood for a moment, as I have so many times before, wondering what might have been if I'd had this sister, just three years younger than I, to play with during my childhood. Life surely would have been different for all of us, had she lived. One never knows how the story would have played out. She would have been 55 this year.

For 55 years, she's lain there in death's slumber on that hillside west of Sandpoint, and for 55 years Mother has faithfully returned to her grave with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. Last night, Debbie learned of her for the first time. Last year, Mother told me it some day be my responsibility to see that her grave is decorated every year.

I shall fulfill that responsibility. It's the least I can do for a sister who missed out on the great gift of a life well-lived.