I was born in 1944, and I am the oldest of eight in our family. John Wesley, Ronald, Sallie Ann, Joyce, Arlene, Jane, Marge, and David. Ron and I were always praying for a baby brother to wrestle with, but five sisters in a row persistently came along to thwart our ecclesiastical efforts. It was not to be. It was not until 1958 that David finally came along.There is a story behind that that I can share at some other time. One story that I must tell is about Sallie Ann. (The picture above is a picture of Sally in her younger years.) Sally was born in 1946 and the third child in the family, our first sister. I remember back in those days that Dad ordered from a Rice Krispies cereal promotion—Snap, Crackle, and Pop dolls. They came in the mail and Ron had Snap, I had Crackle, and Sally had Pop. I would rather have had Snap because it looked more debonair than the rest, but I had to settle for Crackle.
As we all grew up I noticed that Sally had certain fears that, in retrospect, seemed to be more pronounced than in the rest of us. I remember about 1953 when I, Ronny, Sally, Joyce and maybe Arlene were in the barnyard at the Spring City farm when a fighter jet flew overhead. The Willow Grove Air Base was a few miles away. We all waved, which was evidently spotted by the pilot. He made a long loop around and flew low over us. When he came alongside he accelerated and flames shot out the afterburner and he took off with a deafening roar. Sally was the only one that screamed and ran and we helped quiet her down.
Another time a light plane, which was maybe piloted by Graybill Souder, flew over the barn and silo and may have clipped the lightning rod on top of the silo, according to Dad. The plane flew low over our garden where Dad was working and we were pulling weeds. As the plane flew over, Dad reached up with his hoe and the plane was only a few feet above that. It was low enough that it had to climb to get over our house. The resulting roar created such a din that Sally ran screaming toward the house.
I had my own problems. I had surgery as a child and I had problems with staying dry. It was a problem that affected me well into my teenage years. Sometimes we children didn’t get along with each other, as children are wont to do, and Sally chose to tease me about bedwetting, something which I did not appreciate. The result was that I stopped talking to her in a civil manner for a number of years. I really don’t know when it started. It may have been at the Norman Souder Farm. We moved to the Ellis Mack Farm years later, and then we moved to the Tuschinsky Chicken Farm which Dad bought—the fifth and last farm we ever lived on.
I was maybe 17 or 18 when Mom came to me one day and asked if I could be a big brother to Sally. (Sally was 15 or 16 at the time.) She was quite depressed and Mom said it would be nice if I could let bygones be bygones. I don’t remember telling Mom about the continuous rift Sally and I had, but she apparently noticed it all along.
I went up to the room where Sally was and, as I stood in the doorway, said, “Sally, I guess it’s time to let bygones be bygones.” I don’t know what else I said in the way of apology, but that ended the rift, right then and there.
In the beginning I was more hesitant to communicate but Sally came to me with the need to talk, and I gradually warmed up to her with big brother advice. Maybe I had more of an optimistic outlook which she needed to relate to; I had my own occasional depressions. With what I had to deal with I forced some of that optimism on myself.
We as a family eventually left the Mennonite Church and joined up with a Fellowship that had a more spiritual emphasis. I joined it in 1965 when it was on 2027 Spring Garden Street in Philadelphia, and it eventually moved to Mt. Laurel, New Jersey—Mt. Laurel Chapel. The group was quite musical and we eventually had public concerts twice a year, for over 20 years.Over the years a number of young people were taken on trips to Switzerland, Hawaii, and in the States. One day Sally and I went to Lancaster County to visit with our cousins. Cousin Maryann was a close friend of hers. On the way home Sally seemed to be rather gloomy and I told her to tell me what her concern was. Why was she so despondent so often? She should talk it out. She answered, “I would like to go on those trips once in awhile too. Arlene, Jane, and Margie all are able to go on trips to Switzerland, Hawaii...I don’t go anywhere!
“Sally, I don't either.”
The Elder of the church introduced Sally to a young man in the congregation, a Chinese-American, John Lee, and in course of time they got married, to the surprise of a lot of people who knew her. Sally was the type of person to be on the depressed side at times and it was not expected that she would find someone to share her life with. John did not know what her entire disposition was and did not find out until afterwards. His parents owned a restaurant and they had a wedding feast for the young couple, and it was afterwards that John found out her schizophrenic side. Still, he stayed by her.
I believe Sally may have been intimidated by the apparent success of her husband. He was a college graduate, a chemistry major, and he had a job at a prestigious laboratory. They had two children and there were times that she needed to get away, which worried John. I worked at Spectracolor at the time and Sally called me once in awhile to talk. There was a payphone for employees to use for personal calls.
One day I answered the phone and I asked how she was doing.
“I did something bad,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“What did you do?”
“I cut myself.”
“Is it bad?”
“Yes…”
I told her, “What I want you to do is unlock the front door and wait for whoever is coming to help.”
I went to the office and told them what happened and then called the police and told them. I felt a little faint when I overheard the dispatch order an ambulance for an “attempted suicide.
I told my co-workers I was leaving for awhile and I traveled the eight miles to where Sally lived. When I arrived, the ambulance was already there. I came into the room and Sally was sitting quietly with a bandage over her wrist. “Oh Sally,” and I gave her a hug. A police officer was in the kitchen examining the evidence. He showed it to me. I did not feel good. I called John but when he answered I couldn’t tell him the details until he said, “Just spit it out.” So I told him what happened. “Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly.
They took Sally to the hospital and I stayed awhile. I went to the piano and played a rather melancholy tune that came to me, a tune of sadness. John picked Sally up at the hospital later and brought her home. They invited me over occasionally. John and Sally’s two girls, Samra and Sharon, grew up into fine young ladies bound for college.
Meanwhile, I married Lucy Yoder and moved to Ohio, and Sally would call me occasionally. She still needed someone to talk to. One day she called me and said, “Do you think the Lord has anything for me to do?” How does one answer a question like that? But without thinking I blurted out, “No...but you can enjoy your children and eventually grandchildren. Enjoy life. Don’t worry about everything. Your children need you. Your eventual grandchildren will need their grandma.” Later I felt a little guilty for the initial choice of words, but it was eventually apparent that her destiny had been set, by her own choice.
On November 23, 1996 I got a call from Jane, “Wes, Sally finally . . . she took her own life.” I was devastated. Lucy was in the other room and wondered why I was crying like I was so she came out to investigate. When I told her what happened Lucy had a look of sadness but she was not the emotional type like I am. Sally was 50 years old.
It was at that same time that I had been appointed a juror on jury duty and we had just started deliberation on the case after the trial. I called the courthouse and told them what happened and someone got on the line to give me leave to attend the funeral. The rest of the deliberation would have to wait until I got back. I called the airline and told them I had to attend a funeral, "are there any tickets available?"
“Yes, there is, it is $600. It’s a guaranteed flight," she said. It’s only a 40 minute flight between Cleveland and Philadelphia. I couldn’t afford to pay the price. “That’s too much,” I said, “I’ll get back later.” I was tempted to ask if that came with a coffin.
I called my brother Dave. Debbie answered and she said she would look for a less expensive ticket. An hour or so later she called back and said there was one for $200. I gave her my credit card number and waited for another hour. She called back and said the card didn’t go through. That happened twice. I finally looked at the address on one of the credit card bills and noticed that it did not exactly match my address, so I gave them the bill's address and it finally went through.
The trip from Cleveland to Philadelphia was uneventful and Dave picked me up at the airport. I arrived at the funeral home in New Jersey and soon the immediate family was ushered into the viewing room before the public would attend the service. John didn’t feel comfortable having an open casket for the general public so we were the only ones to see Sally. I believe cousin Kathryn was invited in also.
Sally looked as beautiful in death as she was in life. I don’t believe Sally ever realized how nice-looking she was during her life. In the coffin she wore a Mennonite prayer covering on her head and held a Bible in her hand. It may have been a struggle to leave the faith she grew up with. It is difficult for a lot of people. She apparently never really left it in spirit, however. Later people from Mt. Laurel and other friends and well-wishers filed past to greet us, the family. Her remains are interred in the Cherry Hill cemetery.
But that’s not the end of the story for me. When I finally got home I went back to jury deliberation and we unanimously pronounced the perpetrator guilty. When he heard the verdict his shoulders sagged and his head went down. Then the lawyers involved explained to us, the jury, all the details we were not privy to during the trial. Our verdict was justified. It was not his first offense. The rest of the jury could have legally given the verdict without me, except that he insisted on having all jurors present. I felt a little cheated out of a longer time off to be with family when I heard that.
Over the next months I mourned for my sister, and over the years thought about her occasionally. She was a person who didn’t realize her own potential it seemed. I would occasionally dream about her; sometimes she was in a sad mood, and sometimes happy, as she was during her life. Then one night I dreamed I was at the Uncle Warren Hackman farm in Myerstown, PA and Sally walked to a car waiting with others in the car, opened the door, and I approached her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She got into the back seat and they drove away. Knowing I was dreaming, I said to myself, “Wow! It felt real!” In reflection, it may have been a gesture that she needed. The reader must understand that we never die; our soul lives on and we only leave our earthly body behind.
It was the last time I dreamt about her. But it didn’t end there. In January 2006 I was lying in bed reminiscing on nothing in particular while Lucy was sitting up reading a book. Suddenly I saw Sally plain as day. It was like a cameo picture with trees and a house in the background. She looked at me and smiled, and then she turned her head a little and I thought, that’s Sally all right. I exclaimed to Lucy, “I just saw Sally!” Lucy kept on reading.
Five months later in June I got a phone call from Joyce in Georgia, saying that Mom was quite ill and she might not last the week. I was pondering what to do when I went to sleep that night, and while sleeping, I dreamt that I was hard at work, and then I lay down to rest for awhile. Dad came along and said, “Wesley, get up, you have work to do.” Then I woke up to a bright sunny day and the inclination to take the trip to New Jersey to help out with Mom. I had to leave Lucy behind because I didn’t trust the van to go the distance, and Lucy gave me her blessing to take the trip alone. I rented a car and drove the almost 500 miles to Jane’s house and stayed a week, going to dialysis a couple times. Mom steadily improved by the time I went back home.
In early July I got a phone call that Mom had passed away. Again, I went alone to the funeral. I kept in touch with Lucy while I was away and it would have been nice if she would have been able to go along. At the funeral Jane, who organized a lot of it, said she couldn’t get anyone to lead singing, would I do it? I led the congregation in a couple of songs, the audience singing in beautiful four-part harmony. Most of our family had something to say about Mom in eulogy. It was a beautiful funeral. As Dave said before he played a tune on the piano, “Funerals are for the living.”
During the fellowship meal afterward, I told Mom’s sister Sadie about Sally. I told her I saw her in a vision. Sadie replied, “Now you know she’s OK, now you can concentrate on someone else.”
I was a little hesitant to tell this story at the risk of putting my sister Sally in an unfavorable light. But that is not what I feel. I feel it an honor that she was my sister, and I am still saddened that her life could have not been more joyful, and that she chose to leave us under these circumstances. I don't believe she wanted to but she could not withstand the pain she was in at the time. She didn't realize it but she was a beautiful person, and maybe we took it for granted. That's what we often do. You appreciate the memories but the source is gone.
