A few years ago Mike volunteered as a writing tutor with Open Books, a literacy program here in Chicago. Tutors and students did the exercises together, and when they were asked to write about a family member, Mike wrote about his sister Kris. He sent the essay off to her when it was finished. Two years later, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Kris died last Wednesday, a day after her 60th birthday. Mike agreed to let me publish his essay here.
My Whole Sister
by Michael Knezovich
I’m told my big sister was not happy with my arrival. That at one point, she rolled me – in my bassinette – into a closet and closed the door.
Mike’s sister Kris, circa 1974.
That, I’m happy to not remember. What I do remember is she was always an exotic grown-up person who did stuff I wanted to do but wasn’t allowed and knew stuff I wanted to know, but couldn’t understand.
And that no matter how hard I pedaled, how fast I ran, what grade I was in, I would never catch up.
Aggravating.
I don’t remember when I learned she had a different father than I did. That hers had died when she was six months old after an awful fire at an oil refinery in Bakersfield, Calif. That my mother had remarried and that Kris got my dad, and eventually me, in the bargain.
This all made her even more exotic in my view; otherworldly, even. But we did the usual things – towel snapping fights while we did the dishes. Arguments over what was on our one TV. And always, when called out, blaming the other for starting it.
By 1969, she was a junior in high school. And the world was popping its rivets. Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated the year before. There was the civil rights movement, riots and a lot of fear. And there was Vietnam. As editor of the high school newspaper, Kris chose to run an anti-war poem, which got a reprimand from school administrators. When she wore a black armband on war moratorium day, she was nearly suspended.
My mother, a schoolteacher and something of a local institution, was mortified. And furious. And they fought, loud, hard and sometimes hatefully. Again and again. It was like all the conflicts of the ‘60s, the generation gap, the war, and the sexual revolution – played out in the little terrarium that was our home.
My dad was resolutely allergic to conflict and did his best to not be around during the worst of it.
Me, I somehow got it in my head to try to be peacemaker. I wasn’t very good at it and managed to succeed only when I irritated the two of them and they redirected the anger they had for each other at me, for the moment the common enemy.
My sister infuriated me, too. I wondered why she couldn’t just go along. Or sugarcoat or even be dishonest – in the name of keeping the peace. She left for college, which brought peace. And boredom.
And I missed her. I visited her there and we, without trying, became friends more than siblings.
As a senior in high school, I found myself in the superintendent’s office. I was editor of the paper and had run an editorial critical of budget priorities. My sister and I grew up with different surnames. But the superintendent knew the connection. To his credit, he smiled at the thought. He was generous and there was no threat of suspension.
To this day, some people will refer to Kris as my half-sister. And I laugh, because, like that school administrator, I only knew her as my sister, in whole.
Beth, I’ve always enjoyed Mike’s turn here on your blog, and this is no exception. His topic is apropos for me–just the other day I saw my oldest sister (albeit briefly) and had the chance to give her a big hug and whisper in her ear, “I love you and I miss you.” She has estranged herself from our family (for some ugly reasons that are out of her control) and I haven’t seen her in well over a year. At least now I know that she knows I am here for her. And she hugged me back! Tell Mike his essay was beautiful and I’m glad he had the chance to share it with his “whole” sister. I am sorry for his loss.
Hi Patti–it’s MIke here. Thanks for the kind words and happy to hear you were able to tell your sister how you felt. That I was able to do that with Kris is a big comfort.
Beth and Mike,
How sorry I am to hear of your loss. My thoughts are with you and Mike’s family. This is a really nice tribute to your sister.
Lori
Lori–thanks. You know, being in the middle of this made Mike and Monica’s lakefront wedding all the sweeter. Was good to see you, see you at the Edgewater I hope.
Beth, Thanks so much for publishing Mike’s essay about his sister. It’s a lovely tribute to her. I only wish I could write so well about my brothers.
You mean the Dunker? 🙂 Thanks Brad.
Loved the essay. I’ll bet Kris was glad in the long run that her whole little brother was rescued from that closet.
Thanks Bev. Much appreciated.
…and can’t help but think you could relate to Kris, Bev — am guessing there were many times you wanted to lockyour little sister Beth in the closet! Thanks for avoiding the urge and keeping me whole.
Sorry for your loss. I am one of three sisters – all of us different from each other but love transcends the differences. Thank you for the essay.
Mike and Beth — Thank your for sharing this peice. I am so sorry for your loss but as others have said, so glad Mike that you were able to tell Kris how you felt about her when you did. I have two big brothers (I will always be the little sister) and take for granted they will always be there for me. Look forward to seeing you both soon. I appreciate your friendship and being part of our life.
Psst: When’s the lunch again?:)
I’m very sorry. This is a beautiful essay. Glad she knew how you felt and that you got to say good-bye. Have you figured out “Who we see about this”?
Still trying to figure out who to see about all this. If you have any ideas, please let us know!
Thank you Beth for sharing those touching words. And I am so sorry for the loss both of you must feel….. as I lost my brother last year, and he was my half but whole brother too, I agree with Mike: say what you feel when you can. Afterwards there are the memories!
Annelore
I recall you sharing a letter to your brother after he died, but ironies of ironies, I’d forgotten he was a “half” — what a funny word, that. Half-brother, half-sister. Since posting Mike’s essay we have heard from all sorts of folks who ignore the “half” in regard to their whole half-siblings. . —
That was lovely and I’m sure many of us with older sisters could relate.
I’m looking forward to meeting Mike at the LPV event Monday night
Judy Roth
What a nice event that was, and so well-attended. So many people that it was hard to spend quality time with everyone — a nice problem to have, though, especially since the event benifitted Lincoln park Village.
Beth and Mike, Thank you so much for sharing your memories. My condolences on your loss. Our appreciation for siblings grows stronger as we grow older and the loss, though not well recognized by our society, leaves a hole in our hearts that never quite is filled. Thank you for your heartfelt sharing. Blessings.
Katherine–thanks for your kind words. One thing you should know: Kris was under hospice care at home. I cannot say enough about the people or the approach. Great communication, coordination, and compassion. Pretty much everything that’s missing from the rest of the health care experience. Beth’s experience with you had a lasting effect and it’s one of the reasons we invite hospice in with confidence…thank you.
To my blog readers: Katharine Reed is the wonderful woman who recruited me to help facilitate a bereavement group years ago, all part of a hospice program in Champaign-Urbana. I learned so much there and have many, many close friends as a result. Thank you, Katharine.
I am a big sister who will be 60 in October, I could relate to a lot in Mike’s essay. Such a great essay! I would like to extend my condolences to Mike and you on Kris’s passing. How very sad…such a young person. It is so true that if you have something to say to someone, you should because you never know.
Lovely essay, Mike, as usual. Recalls my Mom telling me that my brother hung up on her when she called to tell him I was a girl.
And is that the famous Katherine Reed I’m reading in the comments section!! I have quoted her so many times and feel so lucky that she introduced us to you and Beth. Hi Katherine! You are the best.
That’s one story Gladys never told me, Nancy. Having met Art a few times now, I am sure it is absolutely true!
And yes, that’s the famous Katherine Reed who has affected hundreds, maybe thousands of lives with her hospice work. She resurfaced recently when the young man I facilitated the bereavement group with all those years ago decided recently to start volunteering for hospice again –he needed references and found Katherine’s contact info. So glad he did, it is great to be back in touch with her and my friend’s community sure will benefit, having him volunteering with hospice again.
And so, Katherine, if you are reding this: yes, you’re the best!
[…] my memoir-writing class for senior citizens in downtown Chicago a few years back. When she read the guest post my husband Mike Knezovich wrote here after his sister died, Mary offered to light a luminaria for Kris in the Oak Lawn Relay for Life of […]
[…] very directly that folks that don’t last through cancer—people like our friend Sheelagh or my sister Kris, for example—weren’t tough. (I can tell you, in any contest other than pitching, either would […]
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