After confirming that she was in fact talking about Henderson, N.C., I called my niece to find out how it was going to happen. I quickly learned that she would be hitching a ride with a trucker bringing a load to Henderson.

For my sister this is her recent mode of transportation to visit family. Her daughter is a dispatcher for a small trucking firm and knows the drivers.

The mental visualization I had of my 65-year-old sister riding in a truck for more than 500 miles was, as usual, ridiculous. Let’s just say that Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies riding in a rocker on the back of the truck was one of them. Another thought was a big container set up with a chair, a cooler and her reading the Bible also came to mind.

I am always amazed at how fast life changes. Even this pleasurable event changed my life instantly. Her short visit would mean putting my swimming on hold for a couple of days. I really didn’t want to do that, because it seems every time I find myself getting into an exercise schedule something comes up to interrupt it. But this was my sister so swimming would take a back seat so I could spend the afternoon making arrangements and playing phone tag.

After talking to my sister and niece several times I learned that my single,-gray haired sister would be arriving in Henderson about 7 p.m. on Tuesday and leaving early Wednesday morning. She would travel almost a thousand miles to spend about 13 hours with us.

My wife and I decided that rather than bringing my sister back to the house for the night we would stay in Henderson so we wouldn’t have to use up time driving back and forth. In the end it proved to be the right decision. After the paper was put to bed on Tuesday we headed to Henderson.

We arrived at the motel almost at the same time my sister did. As we walked into the lobby we saw my sister. There she stood at the reservation desk with a seat walker and a grin on her face that said, boy I’m glad to see you. We greeted each other, registered, put our luggage in the rooms and headed to dinner.

I have only been with my sister a few times in the past eight years. She, like most of my family, lives in the Detroit area. It was about eight years ago that she went into a coma and lost most of her memory.

I have known of her memory loss for several years but it really hit home as we talked during dinner. Every time I tried to bring up something about the distant past I would have to explain it to her. It was during one of these conversations that I realized how difficult it must be for her.

We were talking about her favorite food, frog legs. I asked her if she remembered the first time she had them. She said no. I told her it was her senior prom. I took her to the prom, because her date backed out at the last minute. For her, the highlight of the prom was going to be dinner at an upscale restaurant. Which, for us, was a special treat within itself. She had her heart set on having frog legs for the first time.

As I related the evening to her it became apparent to me that we were each looking at it differently.

While relating the event to her I could visualize the evening with all of us enjoying our dinner and me commenting on why anyone would want to eat frog legs. I even recall her saying they tasted like chicken. For her it was not much more than listening to someone talk about their vacation to a place she didn’t know about or has never been to.

She has done a lot to overcome her inability to remember raising her kids, her family and friends. To remember me and my family she has pictures that she refers to and some journals she can read. She puts a lot of effort into trying to learn about her own life.
Not only does she have the memory loss, but she deals with seizures and the aftermath of several strokes.

I had thought she would have to overcome depression, but that is not the case. Even with all of this she is the most positive person I know. Almost to the point that you might think she is forcing herself to act that way. She is the happiest, most thankful person I know. She has a faith in God that is extraordinary.

I asked her how, with all she has been through, can she be like she is. Her reply was quick and precise. She told me that she had her first stroke at the age of 19 and at that time she was told she would not live past 29.

“I figure every morning that I wake up is one more day that I am outliving what I was supposed to,” she told me. She added that she was 65, had raised three kids and overcome a lot of health problems.

As positive as I am, most of the time, I cannot compare myself to her. She has lived a spartan life but acts like she has had everything she ever wanted. She is a pleasure to be around. Our visit was enjoyable but too short.

We had breakfast together on Wednesday morning and then her chauffer, the truck driver, showed up to let her know they had to get on the road.

At least now I know she rides in the front seat and has a great time. More importantly I know that I should be a lot more thankful than what I am. It shouldn’t be too hard to do with a sister that feels like mine does.

Maurice Emery is editor emeritus of The Littleton Observer. His column, as well as articles, appears each week in the Observer.