My Memories of my Sister Nancy by Bill Polyak
February 24, 2021
My sister Nancy would have wanted us all to celebrate her life.
It made me smile to envision her being greeted by those that had passed before her; our mother, our father, our aunts and uncles, Chet and Mabel Davis, her friends, family members and so many others.
I cannot possibly cover all of the emotions I feel. Allow me to offer just a few....
Nancy helped raise me early on, when our mother was not feeling well. In a sense, she became my second mother. She was only 10 years old when I was a baby and we bonded. Her nurturing ways grew, helping out when she could.
When she went into the Convent, I was only seven years old. We were not allowed to see or speak with her for a year. I couldn’t understand why they would not allow me to see or talk with my sister. I cried nearly every day for that year.
Around 1959, I saw the movie Journey to the Center of the Earth, starring Pat Boone. Nancy loved the music of Pat Boone, especially the song, “Love Letters in the Sand”. The movie had a great impact on me, an impressionable little guy. While she was in the Convent, I wrote her a child’s babbling’s on how Pat Boone became separated from his peers and lost in the caverns of an Icelandic volcano. I expressed how concerned I was that he was lost, but to my relief, finally reunited. She wrote back, “Billy, once you receive my letter, I’m confident Mr. Boone is now back with his family, happy and safe. I’m sure he would be very happy to know you cared. Love, Your Sister, Nancy.”
In high school, I shared with her my book of poems I had written. Something deeply touched her, tears rolling down her cheeks, as she silently read my poem entitled “I Walk Alone in the Lonely Woods”. All she could say, as she looked up at me was, “This is so beautiful”.
During her stay in the Convent, we always looked forward to visiting her on Sundays, when it was allowed. But, things were changing. When she was around 30 years old, she came home to visit. I was outside washing my car. Something wasn’t right. Her head was down and she had a forlorn look on her face. I said, “Are you okay Sis?” She didn’t respond. A few more moments passed, I put down the sponge, looked directly at her caringly and said, “Nancy, what’s wrong?” She just looked at me unable to say what age felt. Finally, I said, “Wouldn’t you be happier with a husband and children?” Then, the tears began to flow. I knew I hit a deep down feeling of being torn between duty and change. Shortly thereafter, she resigned from the Convent to begin a new life’s journey.
She allowed me to meet some or she told me about her dating prospects, looking for any initial nay or yay’s I could provide.
At her wedding to Harry in 1973, she demanded that my band play at their wedding. Looking back, the 8 piece band including a brass section, was loud, brash and probably very inappropriate...a far cry from polkas and waltzes. But still, this is what she wanted.
In 1997, I had a medical procedure done in downtown Chicago. She stayed with me that night, until my surgeon released me. She always said, “I’ll always be there for you, Bill.”
When she was in the process of earning her PhD and dissertation, I sent her a reassuring note in so many words saying that everyone was behind her on this. I wrote, “Don’t quit, YOU CAN DO THIS!” She later said that she would often look at my note right above her for encouragement when she said the process was overbearing.
I always remember the great times and fabulous dinners she and Harry would host at their homes in LaGrange, Chicago and Aurora. My only regret moving to California was no longer being in close proximity to her. The reassurance was in knowing we would visit each other as often as we could. On the Tuesday before she passed, we talked about her coming out to visit us in California in April, to continue celebrating her 80th and other milestone family birthdays.
I felt the unconditional love as long as I can remember. A part of me died with her. I couldn’t have asked for a more loving sister.
It made me smile to envision her being greeted by those that had passed before her; our mother, our father, our aunts and uncles, Chet and Mabel Davis, her friends, family members and so many others.
I cannot possibly cover all of the emotions I feel. Allow me to offer just a few....
Nancy helped raise me early on, when our mother was not feeling well. In a sense, she became my second mother. She was only 10 years old when I was a baby and we bonded. Her nurturing ways grew, helping out when she could.
When she went into the Convent, I was only seven years old. We were not allowed to see or speak with her for a year. I couldn’t understand why they would not allow me to see or talk with my sister. I cried nearly every day for that year.
Around 1959, I saw the movie Journey to the Center of the Earth, starring Pat Boone. Nancy loved the music of Pat Boone, especially the song, “Love Letters in the Sand”. The movie had a great impact on me, an impressionable little guy. While she was in the Convent, I wrote her a child’s babbling’s on how Pat Boone became separated from his peers and lost in the caverns of an Icelandic volcano. I expressed how concerned I was that he was lost, but to my relief, finally reunited. She wrote back, “Billy, once you receive my letter, I’m confident Mr. Boone is now back with his family, happy and safe. I’m sure he would be very happy to know you cared. Love, Your Sister, Nancy.”
In high school, I shared with her my book of poems I had written. Something deeply touched her, tears rolling down her cheeks, as she silently read my poem entitled “I Walk Alone in the Lonely Woods”. All she could say, as she looked up at me was, “This is so beautiful”.
During her stay in the Convent, we always looked forward to visiting her on Sundays, when it was allowed. But, things were changing. When she was around 30 years old, she came home to visit. I was outside washing my car. Something wasn’t right. Her head was down and she had a forlorn look on her face. I said, “Are you okay Sis?” She didn’t respond. A few more moments passed, I put down the sponge, looked directly at her caringly and said, “Nancy, what’s wrong?” She just looked at me unable to say what age felt. Finally, I said, “Wouldn’t you be happier with a husband and children?” Then, the tears began to flow. I knew I hit a deep down feeling of being torn between duty and change. Shortly thereafter, she resigned from the Convent to begin a new life’s journey.
She allowed me to meet some or she told me about her dating prospects, looking for any initial nay or yay’s I could provide.
At her wedding to Harry in 1973, she demanded that my band play at their wedding. Looking back, the 8 piece band including a brass section, was loud, brash and probably very inappropriate...a far cry from polkas and waltzes. But still, this is what she wanted.
In 1997, I had a medical procedure done in downtown Chicago. She stayed with me that night, until my surgeon released me. She always said, “I’ll always be there for you, Bill.”
When she was in the process of earning her PhD and dissertation, I sent her a reassuring note in so many words saying that everyone was behind her on this. I wrote, “Don’t quit, YOU CAN DO THIS!” She later said that she would often look at my note right above her for encouragement when she said the process was overbearing.
I always remember the great times and fabulous dinners she and Harry would host at their homes in LaGrange, Chicago and Aurora. My only regret moving to California was no longer being in close proximity to her. The reassurance was in knowing we would visit each other as often as we could. On the Tuesday before she passed, we talked about her coming out to visit us in California in April, to continue celebrating her 80th and other milestone family birthdays.
I felt the unconditional love as long as I can remember. A part of me died with her. I couldn’t have asked for a more loving sister.
