Susan Rudnick - Edna’s Gift: How My Broken Sister Taught Me to Be Whole

Praise for Ednas Gift

Rudnicks debut memoir examines her complicated relationship with her developmentally disabled sibling as well as her own tumultuous path to self-acceptance and fulfillment. Rudnick is a talented writer, often displaying a keen ability to capture emotional intensity through concise prose.

Kirkus Reviews

This astonishingly candid memoir explores a lifetime of memories, emotions, incidents, challenges and triumphs. We learn how the two sisters impacted each other through the decades of their unique relationship.

Emily Perl Kingsley, parent, Emmy-winning writer, author of Welcome To Holland

Two lives that forever intertwine will draw you in and keep you reading. Each is slightly broken but uniquely whole This book will stay with me for a long time.

Kay Berry, an administrator of MRKH Experiences, Advice and Support

The relationship between typical and special needs siblings is complicatedoften not reciprocal in the traditional sense and sometimes fraught with conflicting emotions, it can also bring unexpected riches. Susan Rudnick has given us an eloquently crafted exploration of how her life has been shaped by her sister. The result is an honest, insightful and love-filled memoir.

Theresa Sullivan, author of Mikey and Me

Beautifully written I literally could not put it down.

Barbara K Schwartz, PhD, author of Hopeful Paths

A powerful and intimate account of the trials, tribulations, challenges, and opportunities of being a sibling of a person with disabilities.

Avidan Milevsky, PhD, Ariel University, author of Sibling Issues in Therapy

I love this book for its honest telling, for the transformational power of understanding that is the heart of the story, and for its beautiful clear prose.

Susan Hadler, author of The Beauty of What Remains

Ednas Gift

Copyright 2019, Susan Rudnick

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

Published 2019
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-63152-515-5
ISBN: 978-1-63152-516-2
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018956768

For information, address:
She Writes Press
1569 Solano Ave #546
Berkeley, CA 94707

She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.

All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

Names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of certain individuals.

Hallelujah
Words and Music by Leonard Cohen

Copyright (c) 1985 Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

All Rights Administered by Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, 424 Church

Street, Suite,1200, Nashville , TN 37219

International Copy Secured All Rights Reserved

Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard LLC

In Memory of Edna

Remember the red wild flower
you found by the stream
last summer
vibrant
delicate
rare
and so hidden
from my eyes?

You are that rare flower
And the one who finds one.

And for all my MRKH sisters, everywhere

Theres a blaze of light in every word It doesnt matter which you heard The holy or the broken hallelujah
~ Leonard Cohen

O N THE DAY of the fire drill, it became clear that my sister, Edna, was different from other people. Different from me.

I was seven. Edna was six.

The bell had sounded three times and my second grade class at PS 90 in Richmond Hill, Queens, was ready. We stood at our desks waiting for Miss Kruger to tell us to get in line with our partners. She reminded us that there was to be no talking. We were to move quickly down the hall and outside, and then stand in line in the schoolyard until the fire drill was over. Before we went back inside, I looked for Edna, but I couldnt see her.

Thats because while the rest of the school waited in the yard for the drill to be over, Edna sat alone in her first-grade classroom. She couldnt button her coat by herself or walk as fast as her classmates. Her teacher, Mrs. Dawkins, didnt want to spoil her speed record and risk not getting the class commendation, so shed left Edna behind.

What happened? I asked Edna at the supper table.

I waited, was all she said.

My sister Edna was both the most comforting and the most maddening person Ive ever known. She was also my greatest teacher and I would have been lost without her. Growing up together, she was the officially challenged oneuntil as a teenager, I discovered my own invisible handicap. But it is only now, decades later, that I can see how our intertwined lives were spun from wholeness and unconditional acceptance, as well as deficit and disability.

U NTIL WE STARTED school, Edna was my most treasured companion. We shared blue eyes and Buster Brown haircuts, and almost every night I crawled into her bed. With her soft skin, she was so cuddly, so squeezable. I felt safe when I was close to her.

On the small farm where we spent summers, we collected oval white stones from the beach so we could put them in the henhouse to fool the chickens and the farmer who came to gather the eggs. And once she stood with me all morning in the hot sun, waiting for customers to come to my lemonade stand, even though nobody showed up, and I told her she didnt have to stay.

Our tight bond provided a refuge from the acrimony between our parents, Eva and Ernest. Their relationship was the mismatch of displaced Holocaust refugees. They had married after having been separated and living on different continents for five years. When they arrived in New York in 1944, my mother was pregnant with me. Edna was born one year later. While our parents struggled to find their footing, Edna and I clung to each other.

I couldnt know then how, from that time on, I would carry Ednas sweet essence inside me like a precious gem wrapped in velvet. Yet, as each year brought with it new physical and mental challenges that I could master but she couldnt, the gap between us widened. But during that summer on the farm when I was turning six and Edna was almost five, we were just kids, inseparable, brimming with joyful plans and adventures.

One morning right after breakfast, we rushed to open the screen door. Our bare feet loved the warmth of the stone path under the trellis of sky-blue morning glories and the coolness of the grassy yard beyond, still damp with dew. In the corner of the yard, I reached for the tire swing. Holding it steady, I helped Edna climb into the bottom. Then, grabbing the rope, I scrambled on top and started swinging as fast as I could. Suddenly, I was high up, touching branches, peering through leaves. Edna couldnt make the swing go the way I could when I was five, but thats just how she was. I held the rope tight and pushed with my feet, and pretty soon we were both flying. She was scared and gripped the edges, but I was good at this, and she trusted me. When I jumped off, I tipped the tire so she could climb out.