My Sister

Eighty-six and a half years ago, November 7, 1930, my sister was born at the Oswego Hospital in Oswego, New York.  She was named Jane, after our father's father, Joseph, who died in 1925. She was the first of five children born to our parents, Harry and Margaret Lasky.  Jane was the only girl, followed by four boys.  I was the youngest, born fourteen and three-quarter years later on August 7, 1945.

Jane doted on me when I was a baby, changing my diapers, feeding me my formula, and playing with me on the floor of the bedroom. As she was my first baby sitter, Jane took me multiple times across the street to play in the East Side Park and to the Oswego Theater for the first time to see a Bugs Bunny cartoon.  When I was growing up, I thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

Jane graduated as valedictorian of her OHS class of 1948.  She went on to Barnard College in New York City, where the family frequently visited her on our father's business trips to nearby White Plains.  After she graduated in 1952, Jane matriculated at the State University of New York Upstate Medical University in Syracuse, only about thirty miles from our home.  Four years later she was a doctor, satisfying our mother's dream.  

Jane stayed on in Syracuse for further training in her chosen specialty, obstetrics and gynecology.  She was one of the first female OB-GYNs in the area.  Eventually, Jane opened her own private practice in Syracuse.  Years later, she also taught at Upstate and was an active role model for her female students.  

As Jane never married, she stayed close to her parents and siblings. I remember when I was a shy, teenage boy, she boosted my self- confidence by giving me her female perspective.  When I suffered gastrointestinal symptoms while I was at Penn, she was someone I could easily talk to about how I should proceed with my treatment.

Over the years, all of us in the family benefited from having Jane in our lives.  As far as I could tell, she was an excellent physician who treated her patients and colleagues with care and dignity. Eventually Jane was forced to retire and lead a more relaxed life.  I try to visit her whenever I can. 

Eighty-six and a half years ago, November 7, 1930, my sister died at the Oswego Hospital in Oswego, New York.  She was never named and is buried in an unmarked grave in the Jewish section of a cemetery south of town.  Neither of my parents ever mentioned her brief existence to me.  I learned of her through persistent rumors which led to my requesting and receiving a copy of her birth certificate from the Oswego City Clerk's office.

Something happened that day, November 7, 1930, that led to the death of my sister on the very day of her birth.  As a result, our mother insisted the rest of her children be delivered at Syracuse Memorial Hospital, perhaps more advanced than the Oswego Hospital where my sister was born and died.

As a result of what happened that day, November 7, 1930, all the wonderful events of Jane's life I described above never happened and my parents and my brothers and I lived our lives as if my sister never existed.  I sometimes wonder what might have been.