Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Sisters


a mirage shimmers
beckoning from eastern skies
through misty shadows
clouds of soft fleeting colors
float on water’s silent breath

Thanks to Tarryl Gabel for this evocative painting. It captures how I’m feeling today, even though rain is pouring down outside, and wind gusts are rolling in.

I’ve been feeling disoriented for several weeks. Also relatively helpless since I got the call on Christmas day about my youngest sister’s health emergency. I’ve already written about some of my internal struggles.

Today I’m moving on–doing what I can to stay connected with my sister in healthy ways, without leaving myself behind. Especially when it comes to writing and taking care of my own daily needs.

The painting above caught my eye this morning. It’s a lovely capture on canvas of how I’m feeling right now–enticed by possibilities for my life today and in the future, whatever is left for me.

Thanks for visiting!

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 25 January 2020
Dawn of a New Day, by Tarryl Gabel, found at  

Disorder claims the winning hand

With breathless speed life takes us away
And back again to this grieving space
Where time stands still but not quite
Unfolding our own demise and deaths
One wrenching sorrow after another
Seen through the mirror of our likenesses

I thought being oldest was dangerous
When it came to death and dying
Surely I would go first followed in orderly
Succession of eldest to youngest with
Time to laugh and cry and grieve together
Built into the inevitable equation of aging

Yet disorder claims the winning hand
Changing landscapes forever through death
Or in life made more challenging through
Unforeseen clashing of genes and unexpected
Gifts of generations and the heaviness of being
Afflicted with maladies we never expected to visit

On Christmas Eve my youngest sister had a health emergency that will likely change her life, not for the better. I feel as helpless now as I did when Diane (#3) called in the late 1990s to tell us she had ALS.

As a writer, I’ve asked myself this question over and over: What is mine (and not mine) to write about?

I came up with several beginning ideas, including the theme of the poem above. That is, how strange it is to be the oldest, watching any of my younger sisters going through life-threatening health crises. In this case, Diane, who died of ALS in 2006, and now Sister #4 facing unexpected health challenges.

Thanks for visiting today. I’m slowly getting back to blogging regularly. Blessings to each of you and your families with whatever you’re facing today. Especially if it’s something about which you can do nothing but be present, supportive, and aware of what’s going on inside you.


© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 January 2020
Family photo taken in 1961, Savannah, Georgia

Shaming and Punishing Women

One of my longtime followers, Fran Macilvey, left the following request in response to my recent post, Voices long silent.

I’d like to hear more about your view on “….shaming rituals and periodic public displays of what happens to strong women…” because I’m sure it doesn’t just happen to women, and I’m curious to consider why we do it. What are we frightened of? Disapproval??

I don’t pretend to have all the answers, especially about how things like this happen to men. At the same time, from my childhood on it seemed women and girls had to be kept in their places. My personal fear wasn’t disapproval. It was harsh punishment. Not just as a child, but even as a professional. It was important to ‘walk the line’ and remember that I was not in charge. Today I might simply walk out. But that freedom didn’t happen overnight.

In a recent telephone conversation with one of my sisters, we talked about ways young boys shamed us at school when we were in the 5th grade. Our father also shamed us at home every time one of us was beaten. I was the prime example of what would happen to my three younger sisters if they dared to live ‘outside’ the lines of what my father considered proper behavior for females.

So we shared our experiences in the 5th grade. Both involved shaming by a male classmate. There was no one safe to talk with us. Not at school, and not at home. Each of us lived with the burden of believing we were the problem. The truth, however, is that our young, developing female bodies were the problem. Not to us, but to the boys who tormented us.

Silence about things like this, when carried for decades and magnified by repeated body shaming is like carrying a dead weight in one’s body and soul. Still, the only safe way to get through was to keep our young mouths shut and just keep going.

I can’t begin to describe the feeling of release I felt because my sister and I had finally dared tell each other about this insult to our souls and bodies.

Then there’s the companion side of this dilemma. Often when women stand up and report harassing behavior, they become the subject of investigation. Maybe it was your clothes, your tone of voice, the look in your eyes, the perfume you wore to work today. Hence the silence of women afraid to report abuse of any kind on the job, at home, in schools and universities, in churches, or even in friendship circles.

I’m not saying all women are as pure as the driven snow. Instead, I’m saying that experiences like this need to be unpacked. Perhaps we can change our behavior. Not because what we’re doing is ‘wrong,’ but because it isn’t putting our own safety first. Often we need trusted friends and qualified psychotherapists to walk with us.

Reading books about how to survive various forms of shaming or PTSD isn’t a bad thing to do. We can learn a lot. Yet there’s that internal stuff that isn’t going to go away because we read a book. Sometimes we need a safe person to hear us out and help us examine our feelings and behaviors without blame or judgment.

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 June 2018


The winter Olympics are upon us! So just for today, here are a couple of old photos from my past that tell a bit of a story about my family of one father, one mother and four sisters. Nothing profound, unless you’ve been there and understand the dynamics of being dethroned.

First: I’m the oldest, 10 years old judging by the shape of my body parts. An early bloomer as they said back then. Sister #2 is 8 1/2 years old, and Sister #3 (Diane) is 4 years old. Sister #4 is still a baby. And yes, my hair is in rubber-hive curlers. An attempt to make my hair look pretty.

It’s bad enough to be the first-born dethroned three times by the arrival of baby sisters who suddenly grab all the attention. But to be forced to give up my rightful seat on my brand new adult-size bike when I was 10 years old got my goat. Not that I let it show very much in the photo, but I guarantee you, I’m not happy in photo #2.

Nor is Diane, Sister #3, the youngest in the photo. She has totally checked out of the happy sisters mode and is enduring the shame of having been booted from her larger wheels to this ridiculously tiny baby tricycle. I love her for her honesty. She has her hands defiantly clasped in her lap–not on the handlebars as requested by my father. Sister #2 is being as cooperative as possible, having given up her two wheels for three.

And there I am, boiling with indignation on the inside (yes, I remember this well) but ‘calm’ on the outside, while my mother poses for my father on MY new bike! I wonder what was going through her mind?

Small stuff, you say? Not to me. Which is already more than enough said.

For now, Happy Friday and Happy Winter Olympics! May the best women and men win, and those dethroned be gracious and appropriately distressed.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 February 2018
Photos taken by my father, Fall 1953, in our front yard near Savannah, Georgia

PIT or Carrom, anyone? | Story #4

1967 Jun Game time Elouise and Diane

Elouise and Diane (Sister #3) playing Carrom in Savannah, Georgia, June 1967.

When I was young, I became addicted to at least two ‘parlor’ games. They may not have been the greatest games going, but neither was on my father’s list of R-rated games. Besides, Read the rest of this entry »

The Most Important Truth I’ve Learned | from Diane

God Loves Me to Pieces

Sadly, this is the last of Diane’s children sermons. It’s dated 11 February 1996–just months before she left her position at the church due to increasing ALS challenges. I’ve put off publishing it–partly because I don’t want to stop hearing her voice.

As one of her sisters, I know how difficult it was for us sisters to ask for help. You and I aren’t little gods or goddesses, sent to live perfectly serene and lovely lives. We’re God’s beloved daughters and sons, sent to live in the muck and mire that comes with mountaintops and valleys. We won’t make it by ourselves. We need each other, not just God.

We also need to know the most important truth Diane has learned. So here it is–in case you haven’t already guessed.

11 February 1996

Well….Good morning, folks! This is a special week! There’s a big day coming up Wednesday. Do you know what it is?

…Right! Valentine’s Day! After first worship somebody told me that’s an awfully sneaky way to remind your husband of Valentine’s Day! But what can I say? It works!

Tell you what. This week has another special day. At the early service Clay [Diane’s husband] nearly fell out when I said it’s our anniversary today!

He knows very well that our wedding anniversary is in June! [laughter] June 12! [more laughter] 25 years this year! [more laughter] Okay! Let’s see if he forgets…! [even more laughter]

Actually the anniversary today is special for me and my husband and our family. Ten years ago today our family joined this church. How about that? So it’s an anniversary for us today.

I’ve been thinking about important things that have happened during those ten years. And especially about the most important thing I’ve been learning the last ten years. I thought of something that reminds me in some ways of Valentine’s Day.

On Valentine’s Day we like to tell people that we love them, and make sure they understand how much we love them. Guess what? For the past ten years the most important truth I’ve been learning about is how much God loves me. That’s a super important thing to be learning.

In fact, when I think about the most important thing I want you boys and girls to learn about when you come to church, it’s that God loves you. Each one of you, and all of us together!

God loves each one of us. I’m learning it doesn’t matter what I do; there’s nothing I can do that will make God stop loving me. And there’s nothing that can happen to me that will separate me from God and God’s love for me.

When you come to church and to Sunday School week after week, you learn a lot of things. I think the most important thing that you could learn is that God loves you. So when you think about Valentine’s Day and about coming to church, I hope you’ll remember that it’s not just people who love us. God loves us, and God loves me no matter what. Let’s pray together and tell God thank you for that.

Thank you, Father, for these boys and girls who are here with me this morning. Thank you that they’re in a place today where they can be learning how much you love each one of them. I thank you for the way that you’re teaching me that truth as well, through this church and through other experiences of life. I pray that each of us will understand more and more the truth that God loves each of us, and that nothing any of us does can change that love. Even better, nothing that happens to any of us can separate us from you and your love for us.

These things we pray in Jesus’ name, Amen.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 September 2015
Image from

Faculty Wife | Part 6

1970 May Newly Arrived Sherry in the hospital

It’s late May 1970. I’m sitting on the edge of the bathtub, giving Son a bath before he goes to bed. The house is full of my family members, including my parents. They drove up from Savannah to attend Diane’s commencement.

We just finished an early supper. Mom and Sister #2 are cleaning up the table and kitchen. Tonight is Diane’s baccalaureate service, and D is leaving early to be part of the faculty processional.

He comes into the bathroom to tell Son and me goodbye. He’s all dressed up, carrying his robe. I feel a little left out of the fun. He gives us goodbye kisses.

I hear D going out the front door. Suddenly I feel something. Surely it was just another false contraction. They’re the pits! Besides, I’m in no position to go into labor right now.

My water breaks. No doubt about it. I’m still sitting on the edge of the bathtub. I holler for someone to stop D! Sister #2 races out the front door and catches D just as he’s backing out of the driveway.

It doesn’t take long to figure out I need to get to the hospital pronto. D and Sister #2 help me get to the car. I stuff a towel under my seat and D drives straight to the hospital. The time between contractions is frightfully short.

Things have changed since our son was born. In South Carolina, husbands are now allowed in labor rooms. There’s one small requirement. The husband and his pregnant beloved must have a certificate showing they successfully completed a Lamaze course for couples. We have the certificate! We’re ready!

1968 Pre-Natal Classes_getty

We were expecting something like this. . . .

When we get to the Baptist Hospital, they take me via wheelchair, with D this time, to a labor room. It’s small and private. Just a table for me to lie on, a chair for D, and a button to push if we need help. The nurse assigned to monitor me has an abrupt, take-charge, no-nonsense manner and a voice to match. My heart sinks. I’m glad D is with me.

Nurse immediately checks to see how far along I am, while telling me to stop complaining so much! When I hear how far along I am, I ask for a pain-reliever. The same kind I had when our son was born. It’s important not to wait too long, or it won’t be very effective.

Nurse is reluctant to give me anything. This is nothing! I’m not nearly ready to give birth! I insist. Firmly. Where I found the strength to talk back to her is beyond me. I’m sure I said things I might regret if I remembered them. But I don’t.

I do remember, however, that she told me to stop being such a sissy. Then she begrudgingly gave me the pain reliever. Her better idea was to put me out completely right before I gave birth. No way! I wanted to be awake for this event, and relatively pain-free. Is that too much to ask for?

Unfortunately, after giving me the painkiller, there was no time for D to help me breathe, much less relax between contractions. Only 5 or 10 minutes max after getting to the labor room another nurse came to check and immediately took me to the delivery room. No overhead mirror this time so I could watch what was happening. It didn’t take long for our beautiful daughter to arrive, only 1 ½ hours after my water broke.

D felt disappointed and deprived of his role as my coach. So did I. He also loves to remind me of all that time he spent in those training classes, learning to time my contractions, help me breathe and get comfortable, etc., etc., and all for Nothing!

Still, nothing takes the place of how happy we are that we now have a daughter and a son! Here we are, soon after delivery, looking at our new daughter through the nursery window.

1970 May the New Parents seeing Sherry in the baby ward

We don’t have a clue how much life just changed.

To be continued….

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 12 August 2015
Photo credits: DAFraser (top photo), Getty Images from (prenatal class in England 1968), Unknown (bottom photo)

All My Cousins? | Family Reunion 1958


Renich Reunion 7/20/1958 at Athletic Park, Newton The grandchildren back: Sharon, Ruth, Yvonne w/Cindy, Jenny, Elouise, Dennis, Rodney, Becky, John B, Roger, David B front: Bruce, Jan w/Lyn, Diane, twin, twin w/Carol, Maurice?, Suzie?, Freddy, Tom, Jerry, Steve, Rosie on ground: Tim B?, Juanita?, Sheryl, Rick

Renich Reunion 7/20/1958 – picture taken at Athletic Park, Newton, Kansas

All my cousins? Nope! There were 30 first cousins at this first-ever Renich family reunion in July 1958. If I’m counting right, we’re all there in the picture. That includes one babe in arms–back row, third from the left. Our newest edition was born only 12 days before the reunion. The grand total, Read the rest of this entry »

Getting There | Family Reunion 1958


1949-51 Nash Ambassador – similar to ours

It’s nearly midnight in July 1958. I’m 14 1/2 years old. We’ve been on the road from Savannah, Georgia, driving to the first-ever family reunion on my father’s side. Read the rest of this entry »

Dear Mom, Happy Days Photos!

JERenich, Summer 1959?

California Grandpa & His Beautiful Women 1959

Dear Mom,
This photo always makes me smile! I don’t think I have another photo of all of us together with Grandpa. With the exception of our double wedding in 1965, I don’t think he visited us in Savannah  except this once. He looks super dapper in his Sunday suit, starched white shirt with tie, and Palm Beach hat! Read the rest of this entry »

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