Lisa Geichman Prosek

I’ve been running from it for a long time, but today is the day when it became necessary for me to write my little sister’s obituary.

I’ve never written an obit before. What do I say?

Do I say that when Beth was a golden-haired little four year old, eight years behind me, she walked through the house on her tippy toes? Do I mention that she loved American cheese as a tippy-toed child but refused to eat the single slices if they broke when she carefully peeled back the cellophane packaging? Do I include that till her dying day she loved Hostess Ho Hos? Or that, to my knowledge, there is only one picture taken in all of her 45 years that shows her not smiling a big, genuine smile?

What about the way Beth faced cancer? Because so many will say that she “lost her battle with cancer,” shouldn’t I say that Beth actually won the battle? Shouldn’t I say that she never let cancer get her down, that it never was the focus of her life? That her family was my sister’s uppermost concern even on her last evening alive? Beth lived to protect those she loved at all costs, and that persisted despite my coaching her for years about how to learn to put herself first, at least on occasion. She never bought into that. I should have known she wouldn’t.

Do I mention those of us left behind whose lives now seem a bit darker? But shouldn’t I say that even as Beth’s voice has fallen silent, her deep, heartfelt laughter still echoes in our memories? If we close our eyes and listen, it seems like she’s still with us, hoping that we’ll get as much out of our day as possible because, after all, each of us has only one life to live and we have to make that count.

Certainly, it seems appropriate for me to mention that we are terribly proud of the way the little tippy-toed girl turned out.

Wouldn’t it also seem appropriate to say how much I love my little sister and, though I already miss her terribly, that I’m so glad that she’s finally at rest? That I respect and admire her courage, tenacity, and tenderness more than words can ever convey? That the gifts she left us all will shine forever? That I am so grateful for having known her?