Goodbye little sister, I love you

In which I break from the bullshit-free zone to tell a small, very personal story.

2025 has been a shit year for me so far. Most of that has come from losing my wife of 28 years, who elected to take her own path in a different direction. The rest of the shit has descended from that — the need to sell our beautiful Forever Home in central Oregon, and now my own move to a much smaller place. It has utterly devastated me.

And somehow with all of life’s machinations, I ended up in possession of my late sister Elisabeth’s purse. She has been gone now for 18 years, taken at the far-too-young age of 32. Her death certificate says “Sudden death - fatty metamorphosis of liver.” Probably from alcohol abuse. She lived a troubled life, often filled with pain, just as often with jubilance and joy. It’s the joy I remember.

Her purse was a little pink clutch, all zippers and pockets and pouches and hidden compartments. Last night I went through all of it. She must have had at least ten each of Blockbuster Video cards and of Golden Spoon (frozen yogurt) loyalty cards, each with the first number punched out.

There were two cards in it that I decided to keep: one was her social security card, which I kept because it bore her full signature, in tiny but beautiful script. The other I kept for more personal reasons — it spoke of empowerment, which was one thing she always strove to acquire against a lot of stuff that fought against her. I’ll have them both framed somehow and keep them in my office among all my favorite personal curios.

But what to do with the purse and all the rest of its contents?

I’d spoken to the rest of the family; nobody else had any ideas or wanted it. I was glad, because it allowed me to give it a final disposition that suited me.

I decided to bury it, here on this beautiful property, before I’m forced to leave it. Last night I took a shovel, and in the blackness with a light snow flurry, I hiked out to my favorite spot. It’s a spot that holds special meaning. I won’t tell you where it is, but I knew that she would approve. Obviously I will tell any family who ask.

On the way there, I needed to replace the lithium batteries in one of our security cameras; this one faced the horses so we could always check in on them. You pop it out of its holder, then you need to unscrew a thing on the back to open it. A screwdriver or a coin would do. I took a dime from her purse and used it. She was a DVM who loved horses, and I knew that would have given her so much joy to know that I used her dime.

Once everything was done, the hole recovered, the surface restored, there was a sense of what to do next. Nothing. There wasn’t anything else to do, except remember.

Rest well, little sister. I love you.