Sheila Sims Iding
A repost to honor my sister’s 60th birthday today:
I have said it many times…I got my dad’s green eyes. So did my boys. I am kind of proud of that. My sister, Suzy, got his green eyes too. But my sister, Sharon, got my mom’s blue eyes. Actually, she got even more. My mom’s eyes seemed to be a bluish-gray. Maybe the years of illness did that to them or maybe they would have been that way anyway. But my mom had lighter brown hair…almost blonde and blue eyes…and that would be her gift to Sharon. Blonde hair and blue eyes…but not the blue/gray eyes…even more.
Sharon’s eyes are bluer than blue. They are so blue, some people even have thought she is wearing color enhanced contacts. Not many people comment or notice my green eyes but Sharon’s blue eyes are always noticeable and compliment-able. On this, her birthday, those blue, blue eyes are the perfect reflecting pool for all they have seen in her special life.
If you have seen life though her eyes, you would have seen:
A special baby born with a hole in her heart the size of a quarter. She learned to walk but she wasn’t allowed to run and play like other toddlers. She had to wait until she was 3 years old to have the surgery she would need to save her life. That must have been a long three years for my mom and dad.
At age three…finally…you would have seen a patient at Henry Ford Hospital preparing for this surgery…and her father preparing for what he would later tell me was the most scared he had ever been. (And he was a World War II veteran). You see…he was the one who had to wheel her to that surgery room. Scary enough for any parent. But…Sharon’s little roommate had the same surgery the day before and did not survive. I’m not sure how long the walk was from her hospital room to the surgery room…but I understand it was overwhelmingly long.
Even with a full recovery…even when she was a marathon runner and veteran road racer…it took my dad several years before he would come and watch her run. Very unlike a father who is so involved in all that his girls did. When he finally came to a race in Williamston on a fall day, he confessed, it was that terrifying surgery for his little girl that made it too hard for him to watch her run and test her heart the way she did. It gave new meaning to a “the heart of a runner”.
As she grew those blue eyes would reflect growing up between two sisters and balancing our quirky ways. Suzy was quiet and bright…let’s say brilliant. I was crazy and spoiled…let’s say selfish. But we played together probably more than most sisters and we were close enough in age that people would ask if we were twins. Most days I wished we were. Other days we had the usual sister fights and I wished her away (if the truth be told.).
I’m not proud about the wish-her-away part although I think it is pretty normal for sisterhood…especially when the little one is a spoiled brat. I think growing up most sisters have a love-hate relationship and when I had to sit in the middle seat of the car, when she said I sang too loud and when she took my things…it was not so much “love”.
But the “love” part was there even when we were young. I have always been a big baby about being alone. Not sure how it happened…or why. I have this fear of being alone and have had for as long as I can remember. Well I slept on the top bunk and she slept on the bottom bunk and on the nights I was afraid of being alone, she would tie two knee high socks together and I would hold one and let it fall down to the bottom bunk and she would hold the other. When I tugged on the sock, she would tug back and I knew I wasn’t alone. How is that for a sister’s love tugging at your heart strings?
And when she left home and I was out in that country house alone at night because dad had gone somewhere…she would answer her phone in the middle of the night and drive over 25 miles to come get me. The minute I heard her voice on the other end of the phone, I felt the relief. She didn’t yell, she didn’t say grow up, she didn’t even get crabby. I don’t even know how much the gas cost for all those trips or the sacrifice she made to come get me. I just know she made the sacrifice. I just know I felt safe sitting next to her in that car driving back to her East Lansing apartment.
Those eyes had to be tired some days. She went to MSU and paid every penny of her education to be a teacher. She worked full time and went to school full time. Those eyes reflected an amazingly, hardworking, dedicated Spartan. And yet those eyes always cheered for the UCLA Bruins. With that blonde hair and blue eyes she is a California girl at heart.
Those eyes watched over many little ones. I fell in love with teaching watching her teach. I am not sure why but she I got to come to her classroom when she was student teaching. I saw she was a magnet for those kids and they were for her. She created more than lessons, she created magic. And then she took those eyes to oversee an entire daycare program and the staff and the parents. I got to witness that too. Pretty powerful stuff. Pretty powerful role modeling.
Her eyes saw more homeruns hit in a season than I hit in a career. She was an awesome softball player. That was a bit lost in her love for sparkles and ribbons but once on the ball diamond, she was her own sparkle. She always batted clean up or near clean up because she smacked the hell out of that ball.. I admired the power of her swing and the power of her impact on her teammates. Watching that #12 circle the bases made me more than a proud teammate. I was a proud sister. And when I hit my one…yes ONE..and only homerun, the first one to greet me at home plate was my home run hero.
Her eyes saw running shoes. She taught me to love Asics shoes and she taught me the toughness of running. We ran together every morning for a year or two. Well we kind of ran together. It was a two mile trek and I ran it once…she ran it twice. The girl with the heart condition out ran me every single day. She ran races and races and races. She was a beautiful runner because her heart was so strong…finally.
Those running eyes saw marathons. Not one…just to say you did it. Or five to prove you could do it again. She ran 19 freakin’ marathons. More than that…she trained for 19 freakin’ marathons. Do you know how much time that takes? How much discipline? How much heart? I will never forget her first marathon. I rode the bike beside her in case she hit the wall. She was too damn tough to hit any wall. After the race with that medal around her neck, she took off her shoes and I saw it then. I saw her bloodied feet. I watched her carefully remove bandages and wipe off preventive Vaseline that failed her. I still have the picture. As I sat there and watched her carefully tend those bruised and bloody feet, I fell in love with her all over again. Do you know how blue her eyes can look when filled with a bit a sweat and a lot of pride?
I saw those blue eyes walk down the aisle to lock eyes with the love of her life. She was wearing the most beautiful wedding dress I have ever seen and her eyes were striking blue. Another memory burned in my heart because dad had already gone home to heaven and she needed someone to walk her down the aisle so she asked Pat. Her marathon partner who had crossed finish lines with her hand and hand now had the honor to walk her down that long aisle at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. Beautiful dress. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful memory.
I watched those blue eyes as they laid eyes on her first nephew. I think she fell in love with Joey as quickly as I did. She helped me know that aunties and nephews can be more than that. They can be friends and buddies. Joey was her buddy. She even wrote it in sand and took a picture of it for him.
Those blue eyes came to see Tim every time he was in the hospital. I am not sure how she got out of work or what sick time she gave up but she came to see him everyday and made me a lunch so I wouldn’t have to eat hospital food.
Those blue eyes held her Godson, Adam. And when Adam was little and went though a phase of being afraid at night, she knew just what to do. She brought him a comfort that I fully understood.
Her eyes welcomed her two sons and admiration took on a new level. Their crib got little use because she was always holding those babies. And holding one and playing living room hockey with the other one. She made posters for each birthday, read books for each bedtime and taught me that playing…PLAYING…with your kids was a vocation in itself. Family first was tattooed on her heart the minute Michael was born…probably even before.
Those mother’s blue eyes watched sports without end. Soccer, golf and baseball some days but most days…for years…she was the hockey mom. She could spot an “obstruction” foul from anywhere in the arena. She could see two amazing athletes on the ice. And if you looked, you could see the immense pride in her blue, blue eyes.
I watched those blue eyes cry tears of joy with some big win or a marathon finish. And, sadly, I have seen them cry tears of sadness when mom and dad left us. I saw them cry tears of devastation when Andy died. I didn’t know you could be so sad…so broken. But the one time she didn’t cry was standing there at his casket greeting all those big, strong hockey guys. Her mother’s nurturing overtook the pain as those big hockey guys crumbled into her embrace. I watched it for hours. As she stood there greeting people trying to help them through the pain no parent should ever have to endure I watched those eyes. I will never know how she did that that night but I imagined her heart was stronger than dad realized even when it was shattered.
So today as she celebrates her birthday, I celebrate her birth. The older I get the more I realize there are fewer and fewer people who have known you your whole life. For my whole life those beautiful blue eyes have watched over me and my life…in some way. Those eyes have seen sports and classrooms and kids and babies. They have read scripture readings at church and novel readings almost every single night. They have watched a glass of wine being poured and a goal being scored. They have watched new born babies come home and a precious son called back home. They have taken care of new kittens and puppies and teenage friends of her sons who knew her caring heart. They have picked special gifts for nephew’s birthdays and read special prayers for their health. They have tended flowers in her gardens and friends and family in her heart.
We all have a wish list for our birthday but I know I could never give her what those blue eyes long to see…what they wish for most. But my heart will always wish she could see how much her birth is a gift to so many. She was my first best friend. She was my "mom" when I needed one most. She was my teammate who could change a game just by her presence. .She was my role model in teaching, hockey mom-ing, and running. She taught me the life lessons of hard work, family first and the devastating task of picking up the pieces of a shattered heart. On her birthday I just want her to know that she means the world to me. She always has. She always will. She has helped me see life through the bluest eyes.
Happy, blessed birthday, Gidg. You are loved