After the Fall: A Story in Five Acts

by John RC Potter

1st Act:

“You’re in big trouble now!” I shouted out the upstairs bedroom window into the inky black night. At that precise moment when I was feeling big about it all – telling, more than warning, my oldest sister that she was in for it – the storm window inexplicably dropped with a sudden whoosh. The middle finger of my left hand bore the brunt of the fallen window, and the nail shattered in two, blood gushing from the wound.

There were three of us huddled around the bedroom window that late evening: my sister, Jo Ann, who was two years older than me, and my sister, Laurie, who was two years older than her. It was the late winter of 1967, the year of Canada’s centenary, an event being celebrated across the country. Perhaps more importantly, it was the year that my oldest sister, Cheri, had a turning point in her young life: at 14, she was discovering boys, exploring her femininity, and uncovering the more troubled side of her personality. She had gone with a group of students to Expo ’67 in Montreal earlier that year, which may or may not have been the catalyst for her rebellious and complicated nature that was always just under the surface.

That evening, as usual, our father was working late at the gas station he owned in Clinton. In addition, he also farmed, and, during his entire life, Dad always had two if not three jobs to provide for his large and expanding family. We lived on the family farm off the first side road to the west of town. Our mother had five children by that point, between the ages of 14 (Cheri) and five (my youngest sister, Barb), with my three oldest sisters having been born within four years. It was not untypical of farm wives at that time nor of generations earlier. Unfortunately, due to Dad’s long hours at work, it fell on Mom’s shoulders to raise and discipline her brood. When Cheri became a young teenager and became increasingly rebellious and difficult to manage, our mother no doubt despaired. Mom had dealt with bad nerves and sporadic poor mental health for many years, the worst of which had been after my sister, Jo Ann, was born when she was in a deep depression for many months. Since then, our mother has had mostly good mental health, and even during difficult times, she was, first and foremost, an attentive, loving, and caring mother to all of us. Although we had moments when we tested our mother’s patience, Cheri’s teenage rebellious streak must have been a great trial for her.

On that eventful evening in the winter of ’67, our oldest sister had gone out with friends after school and not returned. My other sisters and I knew that Mom was both worried and upset because she suspected Cheri was in with a bad crowd. Our mother would have communicated with Dad at the garage, but he could not leave work and expected that Cheri would soon come home.

As the evening progressed and Cheri had still not come home, our mother became increasingly agitated. It was a school night, and Mom told us to go to bed. My three older sisters slept in the large bedroom at the top of the stairs, with two double beds (one for Cheri, the other for Laurie and Jo Ann). I had the smaller bedroom just off the large bedroom, with a curtain for a door. Laurie, Jo Ann, and I were in our respective beds when we heard the low rumble of a vehicle coming up the road. I jumped out of bed and ran to join my sisters at their window. The car’s lights were out, but from the sound, we knew the vehicle was running. We opened the bedroom window and peered into the night, trying to see what was happening in the car. We were sure that our sister, Cheri, was in that vehicle. Finally, she emerged from the passenger’s side of the car in her fake fur mini jacket, tight clothing, and go-go boots. I pushed up the window to hear what was being said, and at that moment, I yelled out the window to my sister: “You’re in big trouble now!” Then the window fell and sliced my fingernail open.

I ran downstairs and into the kitchen, and my poor mother, already obviously stressed beyond endurance, heard my tale of what had happened. She guided me to the bathroom and turned on the cold water to run over my bleeding finger with its split-open nail. The bathroom was just off the kitchen, and through the open door, my mother and I could see my sister Cheri saunter into the kitchen. Cheri wondered what had happened to me, no doubt, in an attempt to divert attention from herself.

My mother was shaking with rage and relief in one commingled emotion. She had been worried sick that her daughter could well have been abducted or in a difficult situation, although no doubt commonsense told Mom exactly what Cheri was up to during her long absence. My mother, who never or rarely would strike her children, said Cheri would be punished with the belt. I was staring in amazement from the bathroom, the cold water still pouring over my numbed and near-frozen finger, as my mother chased my sister around the kitchen table. Cheri was laughing, which only incensed my mother further. As Mom went to grab Cheri, my sister’s fake fun fur jacket came off in my mother’s hands. Cheri ran out of the house and into the cold winter night on a journey that would have many repercussions for the rest of her life.

2nd Act:

In the late 1960s, unwed mothers were a rarity in small towns throughout Canada. Normally, when parents discovered that an unwed daughter was pregnant, she went away for several months, ostensibly to visit relatives or for some other hastily devised reason. She then returned home looking the same on the outside but having changed on the inside. The errant daughter would have given birth at some other place, and the baby registered with an adoption agency.

In 1968, my sister, Cheri, turned 15 years of age. That fall, when my parents discovered Cheri was pregnant and the father of her child was no longer on the scene, they insisted that my sister remain in our home and that they would assist her in raising the baby. As you can imagine, it was the talk of the town of Clinton. It was, in short, a scandal. At all times, Cheri was a rebel and, in this instance, a real trailblazer. She led the way for other young girls who ended up ‘in the family way’ to continue to live at home, have their babies, and raise them in the familial home.

Subsequently, after the late 60s, it was no longer uncommon in our community and across the country. In their decision to have Cheri remain at home during her pregnancy, my parents were role models. They did the right thing. Although their marriage was not always happy, our parents were united in their deep love for their children and could forgive them for their mistakes. Their love for us was, at all times and until their deaths years later, unconditional.

After the fall and the dramatic disclosure by Cheri to our parents about her pregnancy at the onset of the winter of 1968, our family life had pretty much settled back into its routine. I was thrilled to find out there would be a new baby in our home; I would be an uncle despite only that year for the first time having a birthday in the double digits! My younger sister, Barb, was born in 1962, and it seemed a long time since we had a baby in the house. Aside from the severe post-partum depression that she experienced after the birth of my sister, Jo Ann, the happiest times of my mother’s life were during her pregnancies and whenever she had a new baby to care for and fuss over. Thus, my mother and my father welcomed Cheri's pregnancy. We knew it would be a baby girl.

Cheri and I would pore over the baby books our mother had maintained when her children were born. A mother could record names and essential details in those books, such as the baby's illnesses and weight. I had always enjoyed the section devoted to an alphabetical list of names parents could give to a son or daughter. Cheri and I would make lists of possible baby names, and of course, the first and middle names had to be picture-perfect when read aloud or seen written on a piece of paper. Cheri favoured the name Tina. I remember like it was yesterday, sitting in the living room and discussing the advantages and disadvantages of that name. A thought had occurred to me. What if the baby ended up being premature or a physically small child, or conversely, a chubby child? Then she would perhaps be teased by other children and called ‘Tiny.’ I pressed my point with Cheri, who saw the logic in it.

In one of the baby books, I saw the name, Nina. I suggested that name instead because it was similar yet different. Cheri agreed it was an interesting name. We both loved the name Nina because it was distinctive and had an international flavor. I remember reading that it was a popular Eastern European name, which intrigued me. I had also read it was a name used by Native Americans, and it meant ‘strong.’ I mentioned this to Cheri. Even though I was young (10 years of age), I knew the as-yet-unborn baby girl would have to be strong to cope with the reality of being the daughter of an unwed mother. Ironically, the surname of the absentee father was ‘Strong.’ Choosing the middle name was simpler: we both liked Louise, which went well with Nina. She would be Nina Louise Potter, born in April of that year. Our parents and sisters were fine with the two of us selecting the names. Despite the typical bickering and fighting common with siblings, I had always been close to my sisters. However, Cheri and I became very close during the winter of 1968 and into the spring of 1969. Her world must have been so limited. I do not recall any of her friends visiting our house, except for the neighbourhood friends of my other sisters. Cheri only had her family. My other two older sisters were busy with their teenage lives. Out of necessity, Cheri appreciated her younger brother, who took such an interest in the unborn baby. I was a nighthawk as a child (even on school nights) and would sit up with Cheri, watching talk shows and old movies. As we watched late-night television, Cheri often made grilled cheese and onion sandwiches.

My parents and Cheri knew that due to her young age (not yet 16 years old) and for other reasons, she would probably require a Caesarean section. She would have the baby at a hospital in London, a one-hour drive to the south. The big day arrived. I can remember being so very excited as I waited at home. Barb and I were left in our older sisters' care, and we were all keen to hear the news that the new baby had finally arrived. Mom and Dad took Barb and me to the hospital in London the next day. Our sisters, Laurie and Jo Ann, stayed at home.

The hospital had its playground beside the main building. Barb and I played on the equipment there. Mom and Dad told us which floor Cheri’s room was on and to be watching. As Barb and I slid down the slide and rocked back and forth on the swings, we watched expectantly upward. A day after the C-section, Cheri was able to get out of the hospital bed. Then, all of a sudden we saw Mom and Dad at a window on an upper floor, with Cheri beside them, holding a baby in her arms. It was such an exciting moment, my first albeit distant view of a gorgeous little girl whose presence would brighten all our lives.

3rd Act:

In retrospect, expecting Cheri to be content to live at home as an unwed teenage mother was unrealistic. When Nina was a baby, Cheri got a job to earn wages, but no doubt in reality, because she was overwhelmed with her maternal duties. Our mother was a very young grandmother (37 at the time) but readily took on the baby’s primary caregiver role due to Cheri having gone out in the work world. It was inevitable that Cheri would want to have some fun and a life. She began to date again. She was often not at home due to working and because she was enjoying her social life.

A few years went by. Then, one day, Cheri just did not come back home. Still in her late teens, she left to live with an older man (who was in his late twenties or early thirties, as I recall). My parents had never met this man and did not know anything about him or where he lived, although they knew it was near a nearby city to the east of Clinton.

Cheri could not bear the thought of simultaneously being a parent and a teenager. She wanted a future, one without a baby in tow. Our parents knew Cheri was alive and well but had done a runner. It must have been heartbreaking for Mom and Dad and Nina, who, even though only a toddler, must have known her mother was suddenly no longer there. It was how Cheri wanted it to be; it was her decision. Cheri later told us that she knew it was the best for her daughter and that my parents could give her a better life. Thus, Nina’s grandparents became her parents, and my niece became my sister.

Ultimately, Nina thought of my parents as her mother and father. After some time, Cheri began communicating and came home for visits. She preferred to refer to Nina as her sister from that point onward and, unfortunately, for years to come. Cheri had established a new life with the man she had run away with. He was a successful businessman and able to give Cheri a comfortable lifestyle. Cheri had a new job, new friends, and a sports car, compliments of her partner. Cheri would come to visit us on the farm, and when she went to leave afterward, invariably, Nina - not yet of school age - would stand in front of the kitchen door and try to prevent Cheri from leaving. Again.

In a twist of fate, in the mid-1970s, Cheri had reconnected with Nina’s absentee father and married him. The marriage was a brief and sometimes dangerous rollercoaster ride for Cheri. Out of the short and volatile union, the only bright spot was the birth of another daughter, Kristina. Cheri left her dark knight, a volatile and unpredictable man; she went back to work and started to raise her second daughter (unlike what she was able to do with her first one). Nina continued to be raised by my parents as their daughter. At least in part, to keep Nina company, when she was only three years old, they had a final child of their own, my brother, Jason.

4th Act:

Cheri’s life took a turn for the better when she met and married a “good guy” from Clinton. Doug was five years younger than Cheri and had been a classmate of mine in high school. They had a son named Jonathan, who was born together, and years passed by in the proverbial blink of an eye. My mother passed away in 1996 after a three-year losing battle with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. A few years later, my father died three months after a cancer diagnosis. After teaching in Canada for several years, I fulfilled a dream to teach overseas. The year after my mother died, I segued into international education when I accepted my first teaching job abroad in Indonesia. I later moved to Turkey, initially as a teacher, but soon undertook my first leadership post at a school in Istanbul. I later moved to the UAE and then back to Turkey.

My older sisters and my younger sister, Barb, visited me when I was living and working in Izmir. In the spring of 2013, Cheri, Laurie, and Barb revisited me. Jo Ann was not fond of the long flight and decided against a return trip. It was during the visit that Cheri received a disturbing telephone call: Nina was in the hospital, in critical care. She was very ill with pneumonia, complicated by her weight. Nina had been an adorable, chubby baby and toddler; by school age, she had become overweight and, eventually, as an adult, obese. In addition, she struggled with an addiction to opiates.

When Cheri called the hospital in Canada to ask about Nina’s prognosis and to speak with her, the nurse inquired as to Cheri’s relationship with Nina. Cheri responded that she was her sister. The nurse informed Cheri that she would not transfer the call to her, only to a parent, husband, or partner, due to Nina being in critical care. Cheri hung up the telephone and turned to look at Barb, Laurie, and me. I stared at her in disbelief and implored Cheri to call the hospital again and inform the nurse that she was Nina’s mother. Given Nina’s weight and other health- related issues (she was on blood pressure and cholesterol medications), I was not the only one in our family who was concerned about her longevity. Cheri’s worry about Nina overrode any hesitation, and she called back to the hospital, and this time, her call was put through. When Cheri spoke with Nina, she told her that, as her mother, she was concerned about her and loved her. Nina had known since childhood that Cheri was her birth mother, but unfortunately, my oldest sister had avoided discussing it with her. It was long overdue and perhaps too late.

Nina recovered from pneumonia. We only discovered months later that, around the same time, she had stopped taking her medications. As we suspected, unfortunately, Nina was still addicted to opiates. When I returned to Canada for an annual summer visit that year, I noticed that Nina had gained even more weight. She was extremely obese. Thus, any activity stressed her breathing, and walking was a chore. I told my sisters I was extremely worried about Nina and the strain her weight must have been exerting on her heart. They tried to get Nina to go to the doctor, but she always had an excuse. She perhaps did not want to hear any bad news. At her home, during that visit, I told Nina that the year before, I had made her two twin sons (who were to start high school that fall) my beneficiaries. Nina had never married nor revealed to us who the father of her twin sons was. For years, Nina struggled with finding and maintaining work and was always short of funds despite monthly financial assistance from me and my sisters. I did not want Nina to worry about her children in case anything happened to her.

Less than a month later, in late August, I received a telephone call from my sister, Barb, who was upset and crying. Nina had passed away in her sleep from a sudden heart attack at the age of 44. On the long flight back from Istanbul, I wrote her eulogy, remembering the beautiful little girl whose birth had brightened our family's lives, particularly mine, all those years before. My sister, Cheri, and her second husband, Doug, were guardians of Nina’s teenage sons.

It was a few years after Nina’s passing when, one night, one of her sons decided to go for a joy ride on a country road with a friend. The young teenager driving may have been going too fast and, unfortunately, lost control of the car. My nephew was ejected from the vehicle and sustained life-threatening injuries, including brain trauma; his friend, the driver, was not injured. At the hospital, it was expected that my nephew would not live. I flew from Istanbul and was not sure if he would be alive when I reached the hospital. Everyone was praying for a miracle, and fortunately, over months following surgery and therapy, my nephew was released from the hospital. It would be a long road to recovery and the start of a changed life.

5th Act:

The pandemic affected everyone’s lives. In my case, it was the backdrop to my sister Cheri’s bout of poor physical and mental health. She had been diagnosed with polymyalgia rheumatica, and therefore prednisone was prescribed. Like people worldwide, my siblings and I began to connect via Zoom every month. It allowed us to keep in touch and have some laughs; our family was known to have a wonderful sense of humour and enjoyed having fun. I referred to the virtual conversations as our Zoom Doom Chats, which we laughed about.

It was during the first year of Covid that Cheri’s behaviour changed. She became erratic at times. Then, almost inexplicably, Cheri left her husband and moved into an apartment. It was apparently due to the medication that she had to take for her condition, which she sometimes did not take or took too much. After a few months of living independently, Cheri got back on track with her meds, gave up her apartment, and returned home. When I had individual chats with my other sisters or via emails to and from them, they expressed concern about Cheri and her mental health. Cheri had always appeared to be an ‘up person,’ the life of the party, but there was another side to my sister, an unhappy and troubled one. During the pandemic, Cheri’s mood often became darker, and it was sometimes evident during our Zoom Doom Chats, although there would be glimpses of her wry sense of humour.

In April of 2021, my sister Jo Ann, with whom I had always been very close from childhood, passed away suddenly from a heart attack. Her death was a blow to all of us, but I think it was tough for Cheri due to her issues. The Zoom Doom Chats had continued but with one less sibling. However, they were no longer monthly nor as light-hearted as before Jo Ann’s death. In March of 2022, I suggested we chat during my spring break. Laurie, Barb, and I had no idea that would be our last virtual chat with Cheri. In retrospect, it occurred to me that Cheri seemed somewhat preoccupied with that final chat. A few days later, after her husband had gone to work and she had said goodbye to my nephew as he left to go to work, Cheri took her own life. What was she thinking of when she went into her bedroom with the step stool and the cord and looked out at the view from her closet door? My remaining siblings and I have discussed this a few times, trying to make sense of something that is unknowable and unfathomable. We will never know. We hope and trust that in death, our eldest sister finally found the profound peace that often eluded her.

Family dynamics are unique, and yet there can be commonalities between households. Each family has its joys, happy times, and its share of sadness and sorrow. Each family member plays a role in the overall relationship of the whole group. I was a middle child, a bookworm, a dreamer who believed anything was possible, never to give up hope. I was the glue in the family, and the joker whose role was to jolly up any proceeding with humour and wit. That continued throughout the years, including the virtual chats with my siblings during the pandemic.

After Cheri’s suicide, a friend wrote me regarding all the tragedies my family had encountered over the years; most recently, my sister had taken her own life. Yet, I don’t perceive it as a tragedy, nor the events, incidents, and acts that preceded it. I view it as life writ large that we must find the silver lining behind any dark cloud, and finally, we should count our blessings and be thankful for what remains behind. Life is for the living. Amen!

*Versions of this story were previously published in Strangers & Karma Magazine and The Globe Review

BIO: John RC Potter (he/him/his) is a Canadian who lives in Istanbul. His story, “Ruth’s World” was a Pushcart Prize nominee, and his poem, “Tomato Heart” was nominated for the Best of the Net Award. The author has a gay-themed children’s picture book that is scheduled for publication. He is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Recent Publications: “Heimat” in Overgrowth Press (Poetry) March 14, 2025 & “Clara Von Clapp’s Secret Admirer” in The Lemonwood Quarterly (Prose). Connect with John via his website (https://johnrcpotterauthor.com) and Twitter (https://twitter.com/JohnRCPotter).