Juanita

This story is difficult to write because I never met my older sister, Juanita. She was five years old when she was killed in a sledding accident. I have the newspaper clippings that my mother had saved all these years.
In those days they cleared Bluff Street in Cherokee from cars just for the sole purpose of sledding fun for the children. It was a high hill and lots of fun. My oldest sister, Rosie and Juanita went sledding that fateful day and there at the bottom of the hill there was a car parked where it was not supposed to be. Rosie jumped off when she saw the danger, but Juanita did not and was gravely injured. She lived long enough to wake momentarily from a coma and said, “I love you Mama.” and then she died.
Mother talked of Juanita infrequently, but would tell stories of her life when asked. Her picture was always on the piano. She was a very pretty little girl with dark brown hair and olive colored skin and dark brown eyes. She took more after the Johnson side of the family.
Mother always said she liked to have a baby at home when one child started school. She loved babies and liked to play with them. I once complained because I didn’t have anyone to play with and she told me that it was her fault she liked the four and five year gaps between us.
Mother always told us how smart Juanita was and could not wait to start school. There was a problem though, she sucked her thumb. Mother was intelligent also, she told Juanita that she could not start school if she sucked her thumb. Juanita told Mother that she would try really hard. Mom said she did a good job during the day, but at night she could hear her sucking her thumb. She would say, “Juanie!” and the sucking noise would stop. She started school in September and died in December.
Mother, of course, had insurmountable grief over the loss of her little girl. She did not want to celebrate Christmas at all. Once again, my grandmother stepped in and reminded my mother that she had another child. She should not be deprived of Christmas because her mother could not control her grief. She brought scraps of material to my parents’ house and insisted that mother make my sister doll clothes for Christmas. Mom told me one day that if it had not been for Grandma doing that it would have taken her much longer to grieve and that it would have made my sister, Rosie, even sadder than she was already.
When I cleaned out my mother’s house, I got down on my hands and knees and found a box that had the newspaper clippings, a lunch box, mittens, little brown shoes and little brown socks that my sister Juanita had taken and worn to school. I took those things home and can not get rid of them. My children will have to do that when I am gone. There is a mystery, however, my brother, Keith, said to me one day. “I have never seen a picture of Juanita.” I looked and looked for that picture. It is no where to be found. I don’t remember it being in my mother’s house when I cleaned it either. My mother may finally grieve no more.