My Sister's Altar

When I first wrote about creating altars for the departed in observance of Día de los Muertos, it was from the perspective of a reporter fascinated with an aspect of Mexican culture. At the time, I even speculated about what items I might include, but it was an intellectual exercise fairly removed from long dead loved ones. This year was different.

My precious younger sister, Suzanne Wood, died of cancer on September 28th. My first Día de los Muertos altar was for her, because I very much wanted to welcome a sense of her valiant spirit into my home. When Suzy was diagnosed with a rare and exotic cholangiocarcinoma in the summer of 2011, it just didn't make any sense. She was no workout fanatic, but she took good care of herself and led a relatively circumspect life; no drugs, an occasional glass of white wine or a margarita, and she'd quit smoking years ago. She didn't share my passion for food and wasn't a particularly adventurous eater, following a fairly simple diet. Mind you, this was the same Suzy who was a 26 ½ week preemie that survived in 1954 without sophisticated neo-natal techniques and equipment. My earliest visual memory of my new baby sister was Daddy standing at a window, holding tiny Suzy in his hands. How could such a fundamentally healthy person be under attack? Even after her terminal diagnosis, in the back of my mind, I kept thinking that determined little survivor would defeat the unwelcome invader.

According to the specialist at MD Anderson, Suzy's bile duct tumor was already inoperable by the time it was discovered, so chemotherapy and radiation were the weapons in the arsenal we hoped would extend her life. She had a great support system throughout her fight – friends, neighbors, Kappa Kappa Gamma sisters, and her Rudy's Country Store & Bar-B-Q family organized to deliver meals, accompany her to chemo treatments, and drive her to Houston for regular appointments at MD Anderson. Suzy waged her battle with the same quiet strength and resolve she applied to any task she undertook in life. Research told her that eating organic food was her best option, so I offered to introduce her to the farmers' markets and shared review copies of cookbooks about cancer-fighting diets. Over the course of two years, the treatments became more debilitating, destroying her immune system and irritating her stomach and esophagus to the point that eating much of anything was a struggle. The Vita-Mix from her Kappa sisters would come in handy for making life-sustaining protein smoothies.

After she was released from treatment by her oncologists in the spring, Suzy continued to outlive her prognosis, receiving hospice care at the home of our sister Ann in Houston. She did have some good days, especially those brightened by visits from our great niece and nephew, Charlotte (2) and Sterling Frank (4), whom she absolutely adored. She and Ann made a batch of her favorite peppermint ice cream and celebrated her 60th birthday with her high school friends and Kappa sisters. Ann says it was the last time Suzy put on make-up and had a good time. She nibbled on tidbits of the chocolate Miles Compton was kind enough to send and she was always pleased when members of her Rudy's family would show up to visit bearing barbecue for everyone. When I visited the week before she died, my friend Ike Johnson brought a full-on fried chicken feast from Punk's Simple Southern Food and Suzy marshaled her remaining strength to join us. It was the last time she got up and went to the table.

Suzy slipped away quietly early on a Sunday morning. She had chosen to be cremated, so we held a memorial service at the Northwest Hills United Methodist Church she attended. Her loving Kappa sister, Rev. Jane Pettit, was able to speak knowingly and in depth about Suzy, comforting us all with her insights and her wisdom. In the weeks since Suzy's passing, I've been at a loss without her, missing our daily conversations, wanting desperately to exchange commentary about mundane things like television shows or football games. How could she have gone first? I've experienced the sensation of the astronaut in 2001- A Space Odyssey, floating disconnected without my emergency contact person, my insurance beneficiary, my no-nonsense sounding board.

A couple of weeks ago, it occurred to me that creating an altar for Suzy in my home was part of the solution to my overwhelming grief. I knew it was important to gather items to represent things she had cherished in life and many people pitched in to help. Her best friend Randy Molinare gave me a framed picture of Suzy wearing our mother's pearls and that became the focal point of the altar, flanked by candles. There's a framed photo of her beloved George Strait and a miniature replica of one of his signed guitars, a Rudy's cap and koozie, her mouse pad emblazoned with the Texas Tech mascot, assorted fleur-de-lis proclaiming her devotion to Kappa Kappa Gamma, and some Walker's Chocolate Shortbread Scottie Dogs to represent her treasured childhood pet, Suzy's Tammy – a registered Scottie with bloodlines descended from FDR's famous Fala. I surrounded the vase of fragrant marigolds with sugar skulls and photos of loved ones – Charlotte and Sterling, Suzy with our parents, Suzy with Mother, Ann, and I – along with her silver cross and the Serenity Prayer insignia I'd given her when she started treatments. I knew immediately which foods would entice her spirit to the altar: Rudy's smoked pork loin with creamed corn, her favorite Chuy's chile con queso with chips, Miles of Chocolate, and Bob's Pure Sugar Stick Peppermints, the all-important secret ingredient to her birthday ice cream.

The comprehension of this ancient cultural ritual is now close to my heart and I'm grateful for the comfort creating the altar provided. Suzy's altar will become an annual fixture in my home and I've already started a list of things to add next year. Can anyone spare one dart from a bar board game or an old-school bingo card?