An ode to Jo for a life well lived

A sister's love that radiated brilliantly every day of her life

If you have a minute, I'd like to tell you about my sister Jo.

Dorothy Jo, named after her mother Dorothy Jean, was the younger of my two older sisters.

My oldest sister, as required for all Catholics of their first-born daughter, is named Mary.

As for me, the fourth-born child in a four-year period, it's apparently okay to be named after the local hamburger stand. (Bob's Burgers.)

Dorothy Jo died in San Francisco last Monday after an off and on years-long battle with cancer.

Did I mention that "Dorothy" means "Gift from God"?

I should have, because she lived up to that name to the very end of her long and fruitful life.

She was known as "Jo Jo" to friends and family while growing up in the small town of Davis, but at some point after going away to college, she dropped the first "Jo" and became simply "Jo."

Or was it the second "Jo" she dropped? I'm honestly not sure and she never told me, though she thought it was funny that I would ask.

Jo had a heart for the underdog, whether that be a stranger in need or a wounded robin with a broken wing in the backyard or a wilting chrysanthemum that someone had forgotten to water in our 105-degree summers. Basically, she loved all living things, especially those that needed a helping hand.

She didn't learn that compassionate outlook from anyone. No, it was a God-given gift that was an essential part of how she viewed the world from the day she was born.

There was no point in having a sibling rivalry with Jo because the rest of us could only look on with awe as everything she touched turned to gold.

She excelled in the classroom and on the basketball court, won the city tennis tournament six months after taking up the game and earned the female lead as a 15-year-old in the Davis community theater's presentation of Gilbert and Sullivan's comic opera, the Pirates of Penzance. 

I remember lingering in the theater lobby long afterward, bragging to anyone who would listen that "Mabel," who brought down the house with her rendition of "Poor Wandering One," was actually my sister Jo.

She and our sister Mary sang those words together once again just a week before Jo died as she sat up in her hospital bed to recount that glorious moment from so long ago. Her voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper, but the clear joy she still took with every word was unmistakable.

Poor Wandering One

Though thou hast surely strayed

Take heart of grace, thy steps retrace

Poor Wandering One

After high school, Jo went off to college at Sacramento State, and when my turn came several years later I enrolled at my hometown UC Davis, and suddenly there was indeed a sibling rivalry based on the mutual disrespect these two schools had for each other.

Jo mocked the Cal Aggie mascot by calling us the "Cow Aggies" and said the only things I'd ever learn at the University Farm was how to drive a tractor and pick red, ripe tomatoes.

I countered by telling her if she stuck it out at her chosen school, that 57 percent of Sacramento State graduates eventually went on to college.

One day while still in college, Jo visited a pet shop in downtown Sacramento and decided that a puppy there was not being treated well. Her "How Much is that Doggie in the Window" moment resulted in her smuggling this puppy into her dorm room at Sac State, which, like Mary's Little Lamb, was against the school's rules.

She called our dad and asked if she could bring the dog - which she named Freddy - home and received a firm "No." Dad finally relented and said Freddy could stay for a week. After two weeks that puppy was a family treasure, and as a bonus, it brought Jo back home on frequent occasions.

But not all was sunshine and roses in Jo's adult life. 

One day, nearly four decades ago, when Jo was living in Antioch, her roommate - who was a minister - was up early, in the kitchen, working on a sermon. Jo, still asleep, heard a commotion and walked into the kitchen just as a disguised intruder killed her roommate instantly with a single gunshot to the head.

Seeing Jo approaching through the kitchen doorway, the intruder fired point blank, hitting Jo in the upper arm near her shoulder, but Jo survived.

The intruder quickly fled, driving past the nearby Antioch Police Department and crashing full speed into a passing train, dying on the spot. As a result, there was very little investigation of this stranger and no motive was ever determined.

It took a long while for Jo to recover, but with great help and much prayer, she was able to heal, and not only survive, but thrive.

From that point on, her mission was to help others heal as well.

Along the way, she became the best aunt that our kids could have dreamed of. And she remained the best sister to her four siblings.

I will miss her dearly, but remember her fondly for her kindness, her compassion, her heart and her deep love for those who needed her love the most.

When we were kids so many years ago, we'd sit around our first black-and-white television (with a tall antenna on the roof) and watch the weekly shows of our favorite cowboy, Roy Rogers.

Roy taught us one simple song that is playing in my soul now as I say goodbye to my sister Jo.

Happy Trails to you

Until we meet again

Happy Trails to you

Keep smiling until then

Who cares about the clouds when we're together

Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather

Happy Trails to you

'Till we meet again

Reach me at bobdunning@thewaryone.com