Post by christie on Jul 14, 2004 21:08:26 GMT -5
'I have a family, too'
By: Cynthia Hubert -- Bee Staff Writer
Source: Sacramento Bee
Published: June 13, 2004
A lifetime ago, two young sisters said goodbye. Irene Pinole, a girl of 11 with Down syndrome, moved into an institution for people with mental disabilities. Her sister, Olga, just 5 years old, set out on a path of school and work and motherhood.
Nearly 65 years passed, with each sister wondering what had happened to the other.
Last weekend, they finally found each other, and all the lost years fell away.
"I've been looking for you, honey!" Olga said to Irene, cradling her face in her hands.
"I've been right here in Sacramento," Irene replied with a smile.
And then they began to make up for lost time.
It was in 1939, an era in which society had little hope for people with disabilities, that authorities ordered Irene from her family's home in St. Helena and committed her to institutional care. She spent the next 32 years in state hospitals in Sonoma and Auburn. She never learned to read or write and lost all contact with relatives.
When she was 43, as part of a national effort to move people with disabilities out of large hospitals and into community programs, Irene arrived at the first of a series of group homes in Sacramento.
Meanwhile, Olga went to school, worked as a nurse, traveled, married and raised children, attended family birthday parties, graduations and funerals. She moved from California to Oregon. Through the decades, she never stopped wondering about Irene but got conflicting reports about what had happened to her. All the while, her sister was just a day trip away.
"I thought you had died," Olga said, tears welling up in her eyes as she embraced Irene for the first time since their separation so many years ago. "But here you are! Here you are!"
Irene Pinole is 76 now, one of the oldest Down syndrome survivors on record and a prolific watercolor artist at Sacramento's Short Center South art program for people with disabilities. Her sister, 69, discovered that she was alive and well after a story about Irene appeared in The Sacramento Bee. Within days of learning of her whereabouts, Olga began making arrangements to visit.
"I have a family, too," Irene said in anticipation of the event. "I have a sister, and she's coming to see me!"
Last weekend, Olga drove for six hours from her home near Medford, Ore., for the very special reunion. It took place at the house in south Sacramento where Irene lives with five other women with disabilities and their caregivers.
Irene was waiting for Olga when she approached the door. A flurry of hugs and kisses followed. Olga gazed at her sister and began to cry.
"I can't believe it," she said. "All those years. I still can't believe it."
Tucked under her arm was an album of photographs of family members whom Irene had nearly forgotten or had never had the chance to get to know. On the first page was a portrait of her father, Joseph, to whom Irene bears a powerful resemblance, and her stepmother, Bonnie.
"Here's your daddy," Olga told Irene. "Daddy passed away, but he loved you very much." Irene, who has also outlived her biological mother, Clarice Sinclair, merely nodded.
Olga also pointed out photographs of their brother, Wayne, who also has died, and many other relatives who want to meet Irene, including half-brothers, half-sisters, nieces and nephews.
Irene reviewed the album carefully, repeating each name after Olga recited it.
Olga Pinole Johnson cannot recall much about her early life with Irene, but she remembers the sadness of her vanishing after her father and mother separated. Surviving relatives have said that authorities ordered Irene's commitment to a state institution after some residents of her family's small Napa Valley town objected to her presence.
Johnson said she tried to track down Irene over the years, and that authorities at one point told her that her sister had died. At the time of Irene's birth, people with Down syndrome lived, on the average, to be about 10 years old, so Johnson never challenged the information. But she was never able to find a death certificate for Irene or a place of burial.
Irene's name surfaced in family conversations from time to time, and throughout the decades, Olga held on to the baby book that documented such milestones as Irene's first steps and first words.
"My family still doesn't know quite what to think," she said last weekend. "It's such a shock. I was nervous, wondering how it was going to go. I'm still nervous!"
But the meeting was only joyous.
After 65 years apart, the sisters had plenty of ground to cover. Irene told Olga that she has lived in four different group homes and showed her photographs of boat rides in Hawaii and fancy hotel rooms in Las Vegas - trips supervised by former caregiver Lita Acacio, who was also at the reunion. Olga met some of Irene's friends and her housemates. The sisters exchanged small gifts. Irene got some fragrant lotion and shampoo and a stuffed rabbit for her bed. Olga got a necklace from the Sacramento Jazz Jubilee.
They joked about the fact that Olga, the younger sister, towers over Irene's 4-foot, 6-inch frame, and that Irene's hair is still mostly dark while Olga's has turned completely gray. Irene brought out an old Polaroid camera and asked a friend to take some pictures of her and her sister.
"Thank you for coming to see me," she told Olga, over and over.
Olga promised Irene it would not be the last time. She also vowed to call her sister on the telephone once a week and invited Irene to visit her, her husband, Robert, and other relatives in Oregon in the near future.
"I'm just totally overwhelmed by having Irene back," she said, laying her hands gently over her sister's. "I can't help but think about all of our wasted years. But we will make up for that, won't we, Irene? We definitely will make up for it."
By: Cynthia Hubert -- Bee Staff Writer
Source: Sacramento Bee
Published: June 13, 2004
A lifetime ago, two young sisters said goodbye. Irene Pinole, a girl of 11 with Down syndrome, moved into an institution for people with mental disabilities. Her sister, Olga, just 5 years old, set out on a path of school and work and motherhood.
Nearly 65 years passed, with each sister wondering what had happened to the other.
Last weekend, they finally found each other, and all the lost years fell away.
"I've been looking for you, honey!" Olga said to Irene, cradling her face in her hands.
"I've been right here in Sacramento," Irene replied with a smile.
And then they began to make up for lost time.
It was in 1939, an era in which society had little hope for people with disabilities, that authorities ordered Irene from her family's home in St. Helena and committed her to institutional care. She spent the next 32 years in state hospitals in Sonoma and Auburn. She never learned to read or write and lost all contact with relatives.
When she was 43, as part of a national effort to move people with disabilities out of large hospitals and into community programs, Irene arrived at the first of a series of group homes in Sacramento.
Meanwhile, Olga went to school, worked as a nurse, traveled, married and raised children, attended family birthday parties, graduations and funerals. She moved from California to Oregon. Through the decades, she never stopped wondering about Irene but got conflicting reports about what had happened to her. All the while, her sister was just a day trip away.
"I thought you had died," Olga said, tears welling up in her eyes as she embraced Irene for the first time since their separation so many years ago. "But here you are! Here you are!"
Irene Pinole is 76 now, one of the oldest Down syndrome survivors on record and a prolific watercolor artist at Sacramento's Short Center South art program for people with disabilities. Her sister, 69, discovered that she was alive and well after a story about Irene appeared in The Sacramento Bee. Within days of learning of her whereabouts, Olga began making arrangements to visit.
"I have a family, too," Irene said in anticipation of the event. "I have a sister, and she's coming to see me!"
Last weekend, Olga drove for six hours from her home near Medford, Ore., for the very special reunion. It took place at the house in south Sacramento where Irene lives with five other women with disabilities and their caregivers.
Irene was waiting for Olga when she approached the door. A flurry of hugs and kisses followed. Olga gazed at her sister and began to cry.
"I can't believe it," she said. "All those years. I still can't believe it."
Tucked under her arm was an album of photographs of family members whom Irene had nearly forgotten or had never had the chance to get to know. On the first page was a portrait of her father, Joseph, to whom Irene bears a powerful resemblance, and her stepmother, Bonnie.
"Here's your daddy," Olga told Irene. "Daddy passed away, but he loved you very much." Irene, who has also outlived her biological mother, Clarice Sinclair, merely nodded.
Olga also pointed out photographs of their brother, Wayne, who also has died, and many other relatives who want to meet Irene, including half-brothers, half-sisters, nieces and nephews.
Irene reviewed the album carefully, repeating each name after Olga recited it.
Olga Pinole Johnson cannot recall much about her early life with Irene, but she remembers the sadness of her vanishing after her father and mother separated. Surviving relatives have said that authorities ordered Irene's commitment to a state institution after some residents of her family's small Napa Valley town objected to her presence.
Johnson said she tried to track down Irene over the years, and that authorities at one point told her that her sister had died. At the time of Irene's birth, people with Down syndrome lived, on the average, to be about 10 years old, so Johnson never challenged the information. But she was never able to find a death certificate for Irene or a place of burial.
Irene's name surfaced in family conversations from time to time, and throughout the decades, Olga held on to the baby book that documented such milestones as Irene's first steps and first words.
"My family still doesn't know quite what to think," she said last weekend. "It's such a shock. I was nervous, wondering how it was going to go. I'm still nervous!"
But the meeting was only joyous.
After 65 years apart, the sisters had plenty of ground to cover. Irene told Olga that she has lived in four different group homes and showed her photographs of boat rides in Hawaii and fancy hotel rooms in Las Vegas - trips supervised by former caregiver Lita Acacio, who was also at the reunion. Olga met some of Irene's friends and her housemates. The sisters exchanged small gifts. Irene got some fragrant lotion and shampoo and a stuffed rabbit for her bed. Olga got a necklace from the Sacramento Jazz Jubilee.
They joked about the fact that Olga, the younger sister, towers over Irene's 4-foot, 6-inch frame, and that Irene's hair is still mostly dark while Olga's has turned completely gray. Irene brought out an old Polaroid camera and asked a friend to take some pictures of her and her sister.
"Thank you for coming to see me," she told Olga, over and over.
Olga promised Irene it would not be the last time. She also vowed to call her sister on the telephone once a week and invited Irene to visit her, her husband, Robert, and other relatives in Oregon in the near future.
"I'm just totally overwhelmed by having Irene back," she said, laying her hands gently over her sister's. "I can't help but think about all of our wasted years. But we will make up for that, won't we, Irene? We definitely will make up for it."
