Deanna

As I recall it, Saturday, October 27, 1973, dawned bright. I was excited for two reasons. First, at some point in the dark of the night, my dad had awoken me to let me know that he was taking mom to the hospital. She was due at any moment with our new sibling. Second, a little later that morning, the Thornton Junior Football League Redskins would battle the hated Packers. As the starting halfback, I was ready to take on what was generally seen as the best team in the league.

Mom had still not delivered when Dad came home to get us to the game. Let me say this without any false humility, we kicked their ass.

Okay… the score was 13-7, but… and here’s the thing… the winning touchdown was scored by our quarterback, Tucker, who had faded back to make a throw when the biggest, meanest, ugliest Packer of them all, their left defensive end, came around the line and headed straight for Tucker. The only thing between him and certain death for our QB, was… a small halfback named… Dave…

Somehow, I got in his way and got low into his legs (it would be illegal today), but I dropped him like Calculus 495. Tucker scrambled around us to the right and was off to the end zone and the winning touchdown.

Later at home, Dad called the hospital, and we were informed that we had a new baby sister.

There were still errands to be run and shopping to take care of, so before he would go to the hospital, Dad went to the store. A few moments later the phone rang, and as the eldest, it was my job to answer it.

The caller was Dr Anthony, our long-time family physician. He wanted to talk to Dad, but as he wasn’t there, Dr. Anthony asked me – very sternly – to make sure that Dad called him immediately when he got home. I passed the message to Dad, and he went to the other room to call the Doctor.

A few moments later Dad came to the living room and gathered the four of us around him. He was sitting in the rocking chair and something that I had never seen before happened. Dad was crying.

He told us that he loved us, and that we had a new sister. Mom was fine, but our brand-new sister probably was not going to survive.

The next few days were a blur for me, and I really remember very little of it, except for a walk to school one day talking to my best friend about the whole thing. It seemed like we were just waiting.

I was told – years later – that there was one of those young, excitable doctors who thought that he could do something, and he did. The surgery was… well… successful, at least successful enough, that Deanna would live for another 49 years. She had severe Downs Syndrome and still had all the issues that the surgery had at least partially corrected.

She spent her years being an outgoing and fun-loving kid – I always think of her as a kid, even when she was older – and in the world of my parents, she was a minor celebrity. Everybody in their church, far and wide, knew Dede.

She was fun, exuberant, and lived her life in pain. She never really let it stop her from doing anything.

Deanna passed away, or in the language of her faith, was Promoted to Glory, last December. What I remember thinking at that time was how flat death is. Seeing her on the bed, flat, was odd, because in all her life, she was never flat. Even in the early days when we learned how to do her physical therapy, she had been like a cat being held, just sort of oozing off in every direction. But never, ever, just flat.

It’s strange to lose a sibling, especially one that is younger than oneself. Dede faced a lot of problems, including that Downs Syndrome ages a person significantly faster than normal. So maybe in her own way, she won that game as well, beating all the rest of us to old age?

Hard to believe that fifty years ago we beat the Packers. Hard to believe that fifty years ago my (second) baby sister came into the world.  One of those things mattered far more than the other. But both are fond memories.