This time last year, I was mourning the sudden loss of my big brother Christy. His death proved the harbinger of a year of unimaginable losses that included my publisher Barry, my darling tašta Bibi, and my baby brother Derek. I pray Margaret’s death does not prove a harbinger of similar bells to toll this year.
Growing up, I was so close to and fond of her that I harbored maternal attachments. Those childhood attachments say more about what a kind and nurturing person she was than I could ever say today.
But one morning I woke up and she was gone. The feeling of abandonment was palpable.
That, of course, was a long, long time ago. And I saw her only once after that. The occasion was a family meeting after our mummy died in 1999. By then, though, my maternal affections had long matured into proper, even if guarded, brotherly love.
But the WhatsApp chat below gives a sense not only of that abiding love but also of some spooky, extra-sensory timing. I had it with my sister Esther on Saturday, the day before Margaret died. Esther became my de facto big sister after Margaret left.
More to the point, she was the only one of our 15 siblings Margaret kept in touch with over the years. It had been years since I inquired about her, so here in relevant part is how I ended our chat:
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Anthony: btw are you still in touch with margaret
Esther: not for a while.
Anthony: i’m sure she has her reasons for cutting off contact but the next time you speak to her let her know that i hope she’s well and that i never stopped loving her
Esther: i will. she was such a sweet person. god bless her
Anthony: was…?
Esther: …sorry. i should have said is such a sweet person :( did not mean to frighten you :)
Anthony: phew
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I hasten to clarify that I became aware soon enough about Margaret’s reasons for leaving the way she did, and for choosing to keep in touch only with Esther.
Suffice it to know that I remember analogizing her “first love” to the way Charlotte’s first love played out in Jane Austen’s novel Sanditon. And that I blamed the bastard who betrayed her innocence to marry another woman for all the connubial travails that soon befell her …
Oh, the stories I could tell. Indeed, I appreciate that my previous tributes have given tantalizing glimpses into my family life. No doubt there’s ample fodder for an epic family novel – a la Go Tell It on the Mountain, Things Fall Apart, or The Middlesteins.
As it happens, my baby sister Maureen has already accepted that challenge. I happily defer to her.
Incidentally, the picture accompanying this tribute probably warrants a little explanation. Margaret and I were the only siblings born in July. But Esther pointed out that we had something else in common: we were/are both defiantly camera shy. This explains why the only picture of her any of us could find is decades old.
It’s actually a family photo but I could not bear to crop my darling mummy out with the others. I don’t think Margaret would mind, especially peeping ever so warily as she is over mummy’s left shoulder.
She died from complications related to stomach surgery in Florida on Sunday. She was 67.
Farewell, my big sister.