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I would imagine that for most families, a funeral is a somber event. Organ music, lots of crying, speecches about the person who passed.
When my sister, Lee, died, my mother had already had a blood pressure problem for quite some time. She gave me her checkbook to make the arrangements, then headed to her doctor for a consultation. Concerned she would have a stroke, and I suggested she ask for "something" to get her through the next few days. That "something" turned out to really be something!
My other sister, Abby, and I headed to the funeral home to make the arrangements. Lee's ex-husband with whom she lived refused to go---he was afraid he might be expected to pay for something. We chose the motorcycle theme memorial cards and mourner book and decided to have a service celebrating her life, not mourning her death. We decided on a viewing and cremation then we headed to her home to collect her clothes.
Lee was a leather flaunting, boot wearing biker babe. For that reason, we chose a pair of jeans, her Harley Davidson shirt and a leather vest that had pins of the various bike events they attended over the years. My former brother-in-law's mother was there. She was 75 years old or so. The woman had the nerve to say, "You're not burying her with that vest? That was $150. I'm small enough, it will fit me. Be sure to let me have it after the viewing."
Yep, you read correctly, the woman asked for the vest off my dead sister's body!
So I made some huge picture boards to display and needed a music playlist. I asked my brother for his music collection, and his response was:
"You're not playing The Who and Black Sabbath at this thing are you? Funerals are supposed to be traditional."
I replied, "She wasn't a traditional person.
"He scoffed, "She'd have a live f@#$ing band there if she could."
"EXACTLY! So why are you arguing with me on this?"
So we created a playlist of everything from The Who and Rolling Stones to Guns N Roses. We played her favorite song, Freebird. Now I kinda regret not getting that band. She would have really liked that. I even went and bought a Guns N Roses concert shirt to wear to the viewing. Lee loved Slash. My mother rolled her eyes at that gesture, but by the end of the night, Mom wouldn't have notice.
The first person other than immediate family to arrive at the viewing was a huge guy with shaved head and a goatee. He must have been six foot seven or so. He wore a leather vest with the word "Shovelhead" on the back. Abby said, "My god, that guy is huge. They must have used a whole cow to make that guy's vest." Thoughts drifted through my mind of this guy whacking someone in the head with a shovel and burying them. I didn't know until later that Shovelhead is a motorcycle engine.
People filed in, and as they looked over the pictures they laughed and pointed. They remembered the good times, which is what I wanted. A few of her friends asked me, "Where were these taken? She's wearing dress clothes... we never saw her in dress clothes." A look of shock stretched across their faces.
I laughed, "That is 'cause she didn't have any. Those belong to our other sister." Then I scanned the family photos. Christenings, weddings, Communions... ever single picture... 50 different events or so.. and in every picture, Lee was wearing Abby's outfits and my mother's dress shoes. I heard a rumble outside and looked out the window. Harley Davidson cycles were roaring in the parking lot. Motorists were "doing doughnuts" and tires schreeched. A cloud of pot smoke hovered above the bikes. Again, I smiled, knowing this was exactly what Lee would have wanted.
A nicely dressed man approached me, wiping his hand on his shirt. "Hi, I'm related to her husband. I'd shake your hand, but it smells like pot from all the shaking I've been doing tonight." He smiled. "I'm a federal officer, and hoping their smoking doesn't get absorbed into my skin. That wouldn't be good." It was pretty evident this guy was more like my family than the bikers that surrounded us. He explained to me that he washed his hands five times already. I had not noticed, but took a sniff and realized my hands were encased in pot smell... first their first time ever.
Then the crazy mother-in-law showed up again. Again she asked me for the vest. At this point I must have been upset and waving my hands in the air. My oldest sister, Dina, came running over, "I saw your Italian side coming out with the hand flapping.. so I figured I would come over." She pulled the woman away, and the witch went to talk to my mother.
My mother was so high on prescribed medication, she was laughing and smiling. Mom never did any sort of drugs or alcohol. In my whole life, I only saw her take two drinks at Dina's wedding in 1989. The Ativan made her so high, and I almost could here Lee laughing, "Rock on, Momma! That stuff's good, isn't it?" Mom asked me at one point if I brought a camera, as if it was a party. In some respects it was a party, just the way Lee would have wanted.
When the mother-in-law asked my mom for the vest off my dead sister's body, my mom told her, "Aren't you the one who wanted to pull the plug on your son? My daughter did all the things to take care of him that you didn't want to do. You know, bathed him, taught him to walk and talk. Gave him enemas and then cleaned up the blow-outs when he couldn't control his bowels. Since you have the nerve to ask for my daughter's clothes off her back, why don't you just take the casket and flowers home too. Maybe you can plant them in your garden."
At the end of the service, everyone said their last goodbyes, then I waited for all to turn away before searching the casket. I just knew someone would put a bag of pot in there, and I was right. That last touch really put a stamp of approval of what my sister would have wanted. Lee whined in my ear, "Oh come on, I was hoping they would put it in the oven with me. I wanted one last puff! How cool would that be?"
Dead at 47, Lee lived her life without fear. She did what she wanted, went where she wanted, and allowed no one to tell her no. If someone did, she found a way around it, or under it. Or she rid that person from her life and found someone new. She didn't have kids, so she had no one to answer for or to. She refused to be cut into a mold of who people thought she should be. She nursed her husband back to health after his accident out of desire, not out of obligation.
Lee lived every day as if it were her last... and in the end, even her funeral was a party and celebration of life. She finally got my mother high, too. If you take nothing more from any of my writing, then take this:
Live Like You're Dying, because you are.--- Let the people you care about know it. Laugh off stress and bills. Play with your children now. Work to survive, but don't survive to work. Perhaps if you're lucky, people will celebrate your life once you are gone. If you are really lucky, you won't have a sister like me who then posts you life online LOL
Listen to Her Pee
I adopted my dalmatian, Rainy, when she was five years old. Before then, she never lived in a house, but in the kennel in the back yard. I found out quickly just how incredibly smart AND stubborn she could be.
It took me a long time to housebreak her. She knew she was supposed to go outside, but she didn't want to. She would pee right by the front door, staring at me. Taunting me. It got to the point where I wouldn't let her in the house until she squatted and peed outside. Her response? She would squat outside and pretend to pee, then come in and pee by the door.
During this time, I went on vacation, and my mother watched Rainy for me.
"Is she behaving? Is she doing her business outside?"
"Yeah, she's been really good. She's outside right now."
"I told you, you have to listen while she's squatting. Makes sure she pees, or she'll come inside and do it."
"Are you insane? I'm not listening to a dog urinate!"
Mom didn't listen. And Rainy did as I suspected. Stubborn dog.
She did eventually get fully trained, it took a whole year---I've trained other rescue dalmatians in two weeks. But she was just so stubborn. None of those "expert" methods worked with her. I tried them all.
Anyway... something funny about her was that she acted like rain was acid and would burn her spots off or something. No matter how badly she needed to go to the bathroom, she did not want to go outside. Rainy then decided to push her butt out the screen door to pee, as soon as she was done bolted back inside. I wish I could find my pictures of this dog with it's upper body inside the door and the back end outside. This became her ritual during rain storms from that moment on.
Everything with her was an adventure. One day I was on the phone with my mother, and as I looked out my back window I saw Rainy digging. digging deep. She pulled up a very large bone that looked like a femur. "Mom, oh my god. I think Rainy dug up a leg!"
The property had been in my family for about 25 years at this point, so I knew no one was buried there, but living on the creek, you never know if someone washed up and got stuck in reeds where it wasn't seen. My mother hung up, and as strong a person I am, I hesitated to go outside. I saw my dog drag the long bone to another part of the yard, then go back to her hole where she dug some more. "Oh Jeezh! She's looking for more body parts."
My mother arrived, and we went to the yard together. I sneaked up on the hole where Rainy still dug. Nothing. "The leg bone is over there." I pointed, nervously. I figured my directionally challenged mother needed me to point it out. Maybe she'd be able to find her way this time.
Her face went from one of fear to one of guilt. "Rhoda, this is a bone I threw over the fence about six month ago. I went to Petsmart and forgot to tell you." I never saw the bone, so Rainy must have buried it immediately. Which is weird, cause it's the only time I ever saw her dig.
Ordering pizza was a pretty crazy event in my house. Rainy hated the delivery people. She didn't want anyone near her yard. She owned it. She owned the street and even the playground across the street. Anything in her line of sight was hers. Fighting with a 100 pound dog who's viciously hopping up and down barking while you try to open the front door is not fun. So we wound up with a routine in my house.
When the pizza guy would arrive, I would scream, "Al!!!" To alert my brother of the arrival. Then he would go out the back door, get the food and come in the front door. At which time the barking attack dog would run outside into the yard, barking hysterically. But, with her entertained, we could eat in peace without her whimpering for food.
After awhile, we proved Pavlov correct. If I yelled, "Al!" at 3 am, Rainy would attack the front door, expecting the pizza guy.
And yes, she was a purebred, I have papers. She weighed about 96 pounds of muscle. The vet insisted she should lose weight because of her breed. However, the only time she ever lost weight was when she had worms, "I've never seen an overweight dog with worms." She ran constantly... I never had grass in my yard. My other dals were about 50 pounds. One vet suggested she was from the "British line of dals". Apparently, they are bigger breeds.
Hope you enjoyed my Short & Silly today. Please tell me about your dog's adventures!
Short & Silly: 04/20/2015
Before I can get to Lee's funeral, I have to explain Lee's relationship with "Mike", I'll call him. They started dating when Lee was 17 years old, and when she was 21 he bought a house in his name. A week later, he fell 80 feet down the hull of a ship while working as a longshoremen. He was in a coma for a long time, and his witch of a mother responded, "Pull the plug, I'm too young to take care of an invalid."
At 21 Lee became nurse, caregiver, rehab aide and much, much more. Mike was in traction, a "Halo", and a rehab center for quite some time. They said he would never walk again... but they did not know my sister. She was relentless and wouldn't give up. I remember him lying in the hospital and she was drinking a milkshake. He still hadn't spoken. His eyes moved all around, but she told him, "You ain't getting none unless you say it. If you want it, you gotta say it." Thus, his first word was milkshake. I was there at 10 years old.
Even passing gas was funny to her. The doctors told her he needed to move his bowels or they might never function properly. When he would pass gas, she would dance around the room singing, "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" by The Gap Band. Here was her boyfriend of four or five years---many people would have left. His own mother left. But she sat by his side day and night. She didn't drive at the time, so my mother was driving her back and forth between NJ to Philadelphia every morning and night--- before and after work and dealing with younger kids. So my mother needs to be commended here as well.
Mike eventually walked again, he even drove and rode the Harley. He could not grasp with the right hand, so the controls were moved to the left side. He couldn't write, so he handled all the paperwork. He'd never be able to have kids. Lee always said she would never marry, but she must have felt old when she hit 30. The day after her 30th birthday, they got married. By this time they'd been together for 13 years. They lasted another 7 years before chaos erupted. At 37, the marriage counselors told her, "Move back in together, but get divorced. You belong together, you just can't be married. That piece of paper makes a big difference in your dynamic." (Come on... how many times have you heard that?).
The divorce got ugly--much uglier than it should have for a guy who owed his entire life to her. I think that is my major problem with him. They had extremely good times and extremely bad times. But somehow he always felt he had the right to control her. He hit her in the head with his cane once, so she picked him and body slammed him, breaking his leg on the microwave. Now keep in mind, she was tiny, but had put him in and out of the tub bathing him for years. She had the strength. Then she called my mom, "Oh my god. oh my god. I just hurt him bad and I called 911 but the cops want to arrest me." That was their relationship though. Extreme, both good and bad.
So they got divorced, and although they always fought, they remained living together. Until "John" entered the picture. Now this gets really funny too... John was married with five kids, and his wife and Lee were friends--- and I mean, they remained friends while Lee & John moved in together. Lee watched the kids from time to time. It was a crazy situation. John was not the volatile personality that Mike and Lee were, so he didn't like the screaming and fighting. Lee wound up in an apartment where Mike paid the utilities and bought the groceries, and John paid for her rent, car insurance and more. I wish I could get some guys to do that for me. I often joked that neither guy wanted her, so they paid to keep her away. I once refused to bail her out of jail because I was just plain tired of it. Who bailed her out? Not her ex hubby cause he was the one who put her there. Not her boyfriend, cause he was the one she got arrested with. Her boyfriend's wife bailed her out!!! I'm serious. I couldn't make this up if I tried--and I write some twisted novels!
She eventually moved back in with Mike, and while living with him, he was still paying her $700 a month in alimony--- which in my opinion was nothing compared to the life she gave him. She got no marital assets in the divorce because the house, cars, everything was in his name before they married.
When she died at 47 years old at 4 in the morning on Mike's living room couch. The bastard saw her seizing and went to bed instead of calling 911. He "came back to check on her a half hour later, but she was dead." Then he expected sympathy. Jerk....
The funeral was funny though :) It was done the way she would have wanted.
I've gotten some emails asking me what happened to Lee. Go figure, the coleslaw wrestling post got shared 44 times. Either I have a bunch of mail readers who enjoyed the thought, or that was a really funny story. So more about Lee and how she was pronounced dead three times.
Cell phones were not common when I was 16 years old, so it was impossible for me to contact my family when a cop came to the door. He told me my sister was dead and he took me to identify her body. Apparently 16 is old enough to see a dead body, but not old enough to take custody of her from a police station after an arrest... New Jersey is crazy.
The officer and the medical examiner gave me the "brace yourself" line-- like that ever works. The sheet was pulled back, and WOW... it's not Lee. When I told them, they didn't believe me. "This is your sister, you're just in shock. The car accident caused injuries to her face so she looks different."
No dude, I think I know who my sister is. We've had enough fist fights and broken enough furniture and windows while doing it for me to know who she is. The woman on the table looked like her, was the same size as her.... but it wasn't her. I called her stupid husband to ask where she is, "I don't know. We had a fight and she took off. Where did you say you were?"
"The Medical Examiner's office, why didn't you talk to them when they called?"
"Medical Examiner? I thought they said Mental Health Center-- I owe them $50 for our marriage counseling sessions."
"Wait... I'm 16 years old and was brought down to identify my sister's dead body all because you are a freaking idiot? No amount of counseling is ever going to help you anyway." Then I slammed down the phone.
It turned out that my sister's purse was in this woman's car, therefore because of the characteristics of the woman, they assumed it was Lee. Then I called her work. It was her day off and she was not really the responsible type. She floated around from job to job, often because her crazy, stupid husband would call and argue with her. (Can you tell I despise the man?). She answered the phone at the pizza place, and I asked her where her purse was and who she had been with. It turned out she had been with her friend, Desiree, got dropped off by her, forgot the purse cause her husband was already screaming at her in the street, then she got in her own car and took off. She figured she would go into work and make some money.
When she arrived at the Medical Examiner's office to explain, they told her she was already certified as "Deceased". What the point was of having someone identify the body if they were going to do what they want anyway is beyond me. She yelled and screamed in typical Lee fashion, then the man finally held up a picture of both women. "Can you tell these two woman apart?"
Lee grabbed her photo, "Yeah, this is me! You think I don't know ME????"
It took her about three months to get herself declared alive again.
Keep reading.... it gets better....
When I was about 21, i received a call that Lee was involved in a multi-car accident and was in the trauma unit of a major hospital in our area. That did not sound good. My mother was still on the night shift, so I called to pick her up. The hospital would not tell me if Lee was dead or alive, just the "We cannot discuss such matters on the phone." I didn't want my mom driving and getting into her own accident out of anxiety and nerves.
We got to the hospital and were told it was a three vehicle accident. One was drunk who caused it, one was dead, and the other was unconscious. For hours they had all three families in the same waiting room, not knowing if our relative was dead or killed someone else. It was the worst feeling in the world. Finally, someone pulled me aside and asked to take me to the body. I didn't tell my mother, I just followed. The sheet was removed, again... it WASN'T her! I started laughing from relief, then realized this was the daughter of the family from the waiting room.
"Oh my god. Where's the other family? Do they think their daughter's alive?" Yep, the staff took the dead girl's family to Lee's room where she was unconscious. Those poor people lost a 22 year old daughter because the other vehicle had a drunk driver. It took some time before they told us Lee was sober and just leaving work when it happened.
How did this happen you ask? The paramedics took them out of the cars and wrote the vehicles on the toe tags. They wrote the wrong car, so they believed my sister to be the other girl. She looked young, so even at 32 she could have passed for 22.
So now you can understand when I tell you this.....
On New Year's Day 2011 I received a call from my mother at 10 am, "Lee's dead." I blinked, "Lee who? My sister Lee?"
I didn't believe it. How could I? I didn't believe it until I saw the body. Her funeral is a post for another day... and YES.. my family even makes a funeral funny.
It's taken me a long time to come to grips with her death. Writing these stories online makes her immortal. She was 47 years old when she died, and I often think it is for the best. She was young at heart with such a free spirit that I think if she turned 50 the entire world would have exploded from the emotions she would have unleashed.
It's mean to say, but she hated old people. She refused to work her retail jobs on Tuesdays and Wednesdays because they were "Senior Citizen Discount Days". The worst thing that could possibly happen to her would be to be stuck in line behind, or driving behind, some old person. She'd yell and beep. I think her life just moved really fast, and she didn't have time to waste. Yet, if an older person needed help with something, she was there...... she just couldn't be there on a regular basis. It was the same with kids... she loved kids, as long as she didn't have to put up with them for hours-- future posts on that topic will be coming as well.
"I'm never getting old," she would say. And she was right.
The Legend of Bogart
My brother-in-law, "Ant'ny" as we pronounce it here, found an adorable puppy tied to a post outside of his business in Philadelphia. He brought it home and my other sister fell in love with the puppy immediately. My sister, Lee, the wild one. His name was Bogart and he was now in his forever home. The vet told her he was a Belgian shepherd, but mixed with what who knows. He was huge, over 110 pounds and on hind legs easily stood six foot tall. It was kinda funny to see my tiny sister with this massive beast... but he was a baby to her.... and you DON'T mess with her baby!
Knowing the dog would be big and powerful, she enrolled in doggie training. The instructor also trained police dogs, so Lee asked for the same training techniques. If in danger, the dogs were trained to first bite the shoe laces of the assailants, then the pant legs--as a warning. Apparently the dog remember this years later.
One summer night, Lee had her door open so the breeze could come in the screen door. She didn't hear the screams from across the street, but Bogart did. The door was locked, but that did not stop him as he lunged through the screen and sprinted across the street barking. An abusive husband was viciously attacking his wife. He flung the woman to the ground, and Bogart snapped as he stood over the woman in a protective manner.
This did not stop the man as he tried to kick both the dog and his wife. Lee started screaming from across the street. Bogart went for the laces and the pant legs, but the man kept kicking. He yelled to my sister, "Get your f---ing dog before I come over there and beat your a-- too!"
Lee shouted back, "I'd like to see you try a--hole!" Bogart's head turned to Lee as if asking for a command. She shouted, "Get him, Bogart!" The dog then tackled the man to the ground, growling with both paws on the man's shoulders until police arrived. The man kept screaming that he was going to get revenge. The whole time Lee screamed, "Be glad that's a good dog! I should have him tear your a-- apart you wife beatin' m-fer!"
After that, Bogart watched the man so closely, expecting revenge. Even if the man just walked from the house to his car, Bogart barked to alert the man he was being watched. The couple moved about six months later. Maybe he was afraid Bogart would get him some day.
I explained in an earlier post that I had grown accustomed to police calls involving Lee. So it was no surprise to me when an officer called, asking me to come pick her up from her home. She and her husband were fighting---both of them were violent. I hate the guy, but I have to be truthful here. She was an aggressive personality in a small package if she was mad--- or just plain hated you.
I got to the house, and an officer stood between Lee and her husband as they are screaming and yelling. She shoved clothing and belongings into trash bags and carried them out to my car. She screamed the entire time. Then she said something that erupted into a volcano worse than Mount St. Helen. "I'm not leaving him here. You don't deserve him. He's coming with me."
Oh my God, for the next twenty minutes the two of them yelled and threw things while two officers tried to calm them down. Finally the officer said, "Custody is something you have to decide in court. We can't get involved or make a decision. File for divorce and have the lawyers work it out. In the meantime, it is probably best for him to stay here in the home and follow his regular routine. Divorce is going to be traumatic enough. Don't put him through worse."
This guy was being so nice and patient. I almost did not have the heart to say, "You don't realize they are talking about a dog, do you? A 100 pound dog that wouldn't fit in my car to take anyway. It would be like Marmaduke sitting in a corvette." Apparently this officer was new to the area, because the others in the town were used to the couple. They knew, as did I, that she would be back and things would be all lovey dovey for awhile.
Thanks for reading my Short & Silly. Please consider sharing my blog and comment below. I would love to hear your dog/pet stories! :)
This post is written with the utmost respect for law enforcement. These people put themselves on the line everyday, never knowing what kind of situations they will face. From dealing with dangerous criminals to dealing with absolute nuts, they deserve our respect.
The Cabbage Patch
My sister, Lee, was a firecracker. Beautiful and vibrant, afraid of nothing, and a total free spirit. If she loved you, she'd do anything for you. If she hated you, she would beat your @#$. And I mean that literally.
She was the epitome of the term "Biker Babe", and she lived in two completely different worlds---one of family and one of her friends. Every once in a while, one life would trickle into the other. Here's an example: Bike Week, Daytona Florida
Every year she went to bike week with her husband, and they often won prizes and contests for their customized Harley-Davidson. One time she called my mother, "I'm so mad! Would you believe I came in second place this year? That's impossible. That winner cheated!"
Mom replied, "Cheated how? Did her bike have some sort of illegal addition?"
Annoyed, Lee responded (and in my head I can see her pouting and stomping her foot), "Not the bike contest! The wet tee shirt contest! I came in second! She cheated.... her boobs were fake. That isn't fair!"
"Oh my god, Lee! What did your husband say?"
"He was furious."
Apparently these two were on totally different brain waves, as my mother replied, "I guess he would be. I can't believe you entered a wet tee shirt contest. What were you thinking? You better apologize to him."
Lee got confused, "Apologize for what? And he was mad. He paid $50 for me to enter, and I win every year. So he's fuming that we just lost the $2,000 prize."
One year she called me, "I just won a lot of money. next year you are coming to the cabbage patch with me. We could make a killing together."
I knew I shouldn't have asked. I should have kept my mouth shut. As a girl born in the 1970's, The Cabbage Patch was a doll. But stupid me inquired, "What's the cabbage patch?"
"Coleslaw wrestling! We'd kick butt in a tag team!"
The best would be when she would get arrested. Which happened quite frequently, but usually for fights or being disruptive somehow. She was only 5 foot tall and didn't weigh much. She was gorgeous, and because of it, she got away with a lot more than others would have. I had a look at her arrest record when she was 37 years old, and she had already been arrested 107 times. <----- That's a real number people! And she lived another ten years, so god only knows what the final number was.
My mother worked the overnight shift when I was 17 years old (Lee was 28). One night at 2 am, I got a phone call from the police in Lee's town. "This is Officer Perry. We have your sister, Lee, here and we need someone to come get her."
When the officer told Lee her ride arrived, she started screaming and yelling, "I hate all you pigs! The only good cop is a dead cop! None of ya's ever do anything good. All the killers are running loose on the street and you picked me up for nothing." (No, she wasn't drunk. Just crazy. It happens. lol) "My sister's taking me home now!"
I could hear her from the lobby of the police station. I asked the officer if I could yell back to shut her up. He responded, "Oh my god, please do. She's been screaming like that for an hour."
I obliged, "Lee, shut the hell up or I'll leave you here. You know I will!" Silence. She thought it was our other sister, not me. She knew I would leave her if she didn't behave.
The officer looked to the air, "Thank you, God." He turned his attention to me, had me sign a release paper and brought her out. He then realized he omitted a crucial step, he failed to get a photocopy of my driver's license. I handed it over and his face went white. Dread crossed his face as he lifted his eyes up at me, "You're not legally an adult. I can't release her to you."
Once again, Lee exploded in a series of rants that mimicked a vicious dog. Throwing her hands in the air and screaming, she ran after the officer. I wrapped my arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet, swirling her behind me. I said to the officer, "Come on. I'm obviously more responsible than her. My mother's at work for another six hours. It is either release her to me, or you're stuck with her until then."
Still screaming, "Don't talk about me like I ain't here! I want out of this place. I'm gonna sue you for harassment! I hope you all die!"
The officer raised his brow, took my license and turned up the ink on the photocopier. He made sure to blur my date of birth. Then waved good-bye. Poor guy.
That was the start of me picking Lee up from the police station, it was not the last. I become such a regular at the Paulsboro Police station (a city in which I never lived, and rarely ever go) that I was on a first name basis with the officers. We would run into ether in public when they were off duty and exchange pleasantries.
Every once in awhile they would say, "How's your sister doing? I haven't seen her lately. When she's quiet, I get scared."
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