Sister, it’s hard to say goodbye, for it seems so unfair,
 That I have to spend the rest of my life without you being there.
 I can’t recall when you were not in this world with me,
 We dyed Easter eggs, bobbed for apples, and decorated the Christmas tree.
 We walked to school together, and a Sunday movie was a treat,
 But after church, of course, and many friends we’d meet.
 We jumped rope and played hopscotch, and jacks with a bouncy small ball, 
 We swung hula hoops, and skated, scratching our knees with each fall.
 And back then I wondered, since we played the games you named,
 Why you weren’t into spinning a top or yo-yo, or playing with pop gun cane.
 With momma we rode the Greyhound to Alabama, during the holiday time,
Where we’d frolic in horse-drawn carts, singing carols that rhymed.
We’d walk down to the pebble-strewn creek, looking for frogs and such, 
But to see the small, wriggling fish go by, was what we loved so much. 
And how grandmother could take that axe, and put a chicken on a stump,
And with one strong and resolute swing, make his head from his body jump.
She would then give it to us to pluck, for she had taught us to do so,
While she baked a pie, cooked greens, and kneaded biscuit dough.
The time of your appendicitis attack, when we were all in alarm,
And when you completely recovered, our hearts could again warm.
I saw you marry and become a mother, with four sons of your own,
You’ve always loved your family, and over time that love has grown.
Yet of all the things I know about you, your love for this brother was best,
You stood with me through my life’s worst times, helping me to pass the test.
Your undying love for this brother, made you fight on at any cost,
Ignoring the harsh naysayers who told you the cause was already lost. 
The battle you waged for this brother, resonated even to Heaven above,
For nothing can be more powerful in the Creator’s sight than unconditional love.
 I’ve seen my sister in every kind of style, Halloween goblin to Mardi Gras clown,
I can even recall one time for a school play, your tiara, scepter and queen’s gown.
Yet the most memorable look you have ever worn, the one I’ll cherish as I grow old,
Is when you put on helmet, sword, and shield, and waged heroic combat for my soul!

	Rest in peace, Dear Sister. Know that you are taking a large part of what’s left of my heart with you.

I'm sorry Mrs.Sarah had to go so soon Mr.Abe,Silk,CoCo,Sean&MyBrother Tan y'all have my sympathy.But out of all the great things said about this great lady one of the things I'll miss is that thanksgiving dinner man them baked macaroni,potato salad and when she slid in a little deer meat on me I'll always miss you Mrs.Sarah rest in peace!!!!

THOUGHTS ON MY SISTER
It is so hard to say goodbye to you because I am still grieving over our mother and sister. Yet I know that God does everything in his own good time, and that we are but players in this drama of life, not the scriptwriter. Sister, the waves of nostalgia that sweep through me at your loss have me on an emotional roller coaster. I will perhaps never understand why you wouldn't share with me that you were terminally ill. Scenes race  through my mind like parts of a movie, beginning with the earliest days of our existence. Then, it was just me, you, and Nellie. We were have-nots in a community of haves. We were taught by our parents that even though we didn't have the fine house and material things that others around us did, we were still as good as they were. The three of us formed a close bond. In many ways, it was us against the world. Our strongest resource was the love we shared. We meant everything to each other. It was a time when a sister looked upon her brother with awe when he could send a March kite so high into the sky that all she could see was a distant speck. And how she admired his handiwork when he could construct a skating truck, or return from a Mardi Gras parade laden with colorful glass beads, or make a 'pop gun' from bamboo, or swim unassisted across the deepest part of the Hardin Park pool. And how our sisters so envied the relative freedom we enjoyed over them, sensing even at a tender age that the society was sexist without even knowing the definition of the word. These were for us innocent days, and we enjoyed them immensely. We grew up respecting our elders, and it was a time when the whole neighborhood watched everybody's children. Positive role models were everywhere. We attended Valena C. Jones Elementary school, under the leadership of the great lady Ms. Fannie C. Williams, who represented to me, and so many others, the very epitome of what an educator should be. In a mostly middle-class community, she didn't try to curry favor with the middle-class parents be putting  their children over others. She in fact encouraged every child to strive to be the best they could be.  She instilled in us a sense of pride, that we weren't inferior to those who relentlessly discriminated against us because we were of a different skin color. This, and what we were taught at home, prepared us to be able to hold our own wherever we went. Despite America's unrelenting racism, we weren't taught to accept an inferior role in the society. When we proceeded out into the world, it was with a confidence and self-esteem that many black Americans of that era didn't possess.

And we needed everything we were given and then some,  for upon leaving New Orleans we would find that there was a national stereotype of how all black Americans were supposed to behave. Since we weren't exposed to this in New Orleans, it came as a surprise to us. We won't bow down to any inferior culture that doesn't see us as people, but objects of their stereotypes. Resistance to the stereotype is automatic, so a confrontation is inevitable. Black New Orleanians have problems wherever we go in America, since the culture of black New Orleans is one of the best-kept secrets in America. Just to use the word 'culture' and 'black' in the same sentence is virtually unheard of in America. We are seen as 'troublemakers' because we don't adhere to the stereotype. They don't seem to understand that the most important thing to us is the way we were raised. Nothing else is even a close second.

When the heroin epidemic overwhelmed the American inner cities in the 1960's, many black men were destroyed. And it wasn't just coincidental that the rise in heroin availability coincided with the rise of black consciousness throughout America. We were screaming for our piece of this American pie that our ancestors had built for free. The draft was in effect, and economic conditions so bad in Black America that many young black men were forced to join the military for an economic outlet. The Vietnam War was escalated. In 1965 alone, black front-line soldiers represented twenty-five percent of those killed in combat. Yet black people represented only about ten percent of the American population. Many of the survivors of this misbegotten war returned home only shells of their former selves, saddled with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, alcoholism, drug addiction. Yet there was no program in place to help them. Let's understand this. They won't take you into the military if you aren't psychologically sound or if you are on drugs. Yet when they release you after exposing you to these things there is nothing in place to help you get back to where you were before going off to serve your country. Some of these young men were seventeen, and had to get their mother's signature to join. Aren't these mothers owed at least an explanation, an apology, or something? And worst of all, it has since been determined that the Viet Cong didn't inundate American forces with heroin;  Americans did it themselves. One can just Google it to find that the biggest drug dealers in Vietnam were the American intelligence agencies. They were answerable to no one, and they were into it for greed and greed alone. They didn't care who they hurt. They tested their product on American servicemen, then flooded urban America with their poison. No wonder there was no drug rehabilitation in VA hospitals until 1971. And the war had been raging since 1964. I guess they hadn't made enough profit off their drug running before then.

I say all this to set a backdrop. These young men returning from Vietnam are thrown into a drug jungle in urban America far deadlier than the one in Vietnam. Many fall as casualties of 'war'. Since the mission was to destroy them in Vietnam, there was nothing in place for survivors. The genocide machine was taking down black men like a reaper in a wheat field. And in typical blame-the-victim- fashion, they say that these brothers 'self destructed'. The force brought to bear against  black men caught in the grips of these times were unrelenting.

Yet to every force there is an equal and opposing force. It's called sister. My sister, like so many others, stood up for their brothers when they were knocked down. They had grown up with their brothers and wouldn't allow anybody to give them a new definition of who their brothers were, because they already knew. They knew that their brothers were victims of a racist order, one with devious designs on their lives, and it was their duty to help him. Most sisters like mine had no full knowledge of all the dynamics in  play, knew little about the behind-the-scenes politics of the 1960's, or that they were going against one of the most powerful and  oppressive forces ever seen in the known history of this planet. But the mightiest army doesn't always win the battle. Only the Creator of us all can bestow victory or defeat. The strongest weapon sisters like mine had was the way they had been raised, which had instilled in them unconditional love for their brother. They went into places they wouldn't have ordinarily gone anywhere near, like prisons,  or other aspects of the seediest side of society, shining a bright light for their lost brother to see. "Here I am," they whispered patiently and lovingly. "You aren't alone. Just follow my light and I will lead you to safety."  They made every sacrifice, even to sometimes ignoring their own families, since the way we were raised made that brother-sister bond an unbreakable one. Some didn't win the battle; the enemy prevailed. But God admires courage and rewards the effort, so in God's eyes they did succeed. My sister Sarah was one of those who won the battle for her brother's soul. There is no force  that can resist the power of righteous,  unconditional love. This was proven by the Creator's granting my sister's with to have her brother freed of the demons that had beset him.

My  quiet, friendly, unassuming sister  joins the ranks of  other  sisters who stood up like seasoned freedom fighters and fought a no-holds-barred battle with an arrogant vampire who felt it was his natural right to fed on her brother's blood. Sisters like mine wouldn't allow their brother to be taken from them without a fight. And you sure had better know how to fight, if not you would get blitzed. Their weapon was unconditional love and a solid upbringing.  They maintained a historical continuum with the way they had been raised, and saw that their brother belonged to them, to that continuum, and it was their responsibility to see that it wasn't broken by allowing him to become victimized by his enemies. They saw that the battle was against hypocrites, people who would infect their own citizens with the scourge of drugs. A hypocrite is nothing but a coward. They weren't even worthy of being in opposition to a strong, well-raised black woman who loves and cherishes her brother.

Sister, you join the ranks of other sisters who have stood up and battled a vicious enemy for their brother's soul. Those in New Orleans like Dolores Carter, Linda DeGruy, sisters of Edward "Ponchy' Lagarde, Betty Mitchell, Edna Washington, Deborah Chandler of Jersey City, New Jersey, and so many countless others. These sisters covered themselves in glory by overcoming all obstacles to stay true to the way they were brought up. They went wherever a repressive society put their brother,  to fight to rescue him  from certain death. God, the omnipotent granter of wishes, read their hearts and saw their sincerity. He measured the volume of their unconditional love and rewarded them accordingly.

There is a special place in God's kingdom for sisters like you, Sarah. You were given a test, and you passed it without effort. And the strange thing about sisters like you, what makes you and others like you so remarkable, is that you aren't even aware of what you did. All you did was accept your responsibility according to how you saw the world. None of you need to call a press conference to show others what you did All of you shrug it off when you are complimented, as though it was nothing special,  just  a part of what you were supposed to do. That will always be the most special part for me. Sisters like you, who fought powerful forces for your brother's life, don't see it as anything but being true to the way you were raised. Thank God you were raised that way. Thank God for making you my sister. Rest in peace after a job well done. Like your love for me, mine for you will always be unconditional, and I will carry it in my heart everywhere I go  for as long as I am alive.

My HEART is heavied by your loss..Moreso for my brothers who are left to mourn..I am with you all in spirit and in prayer...Till we meet agai mama Sarah....LOVE!!

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can't heal. My deepest sympathy is with U Becky & your family during this time; I love you, I'm praying for you & I'm here to help in anyway I can.
Love Deb & girls

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. When someone you love become a memory, the memory becomes a treasure~ your treasure. Sending our condolences from the Johnson and Townsend family.

sarah was and is and always will be my older sister. We shared so much, she taught me how to apply makeup and how to take care of my skin, hair and nails. She taught me about life and love , about giving and taking. She taught me to live and let live. She taught me so much and I thought she would always be here.Even after she left la and moved to California, we still spoke almost every day and I still find myself picking up the phone to dial her number. She helped me raise my daughter and was so happy when she was born that she became her godmother because she has 4 sons and no girls.i could log on and on about her influence in my life, but won't, she knows! For now, I will say rest in peace and enjoy your much - deserved rest . Please tell momma and our other sister hello and tell them both I miss them as much as I miss u. I feel so all alone, all my female influences from my whole life have left me, but one day, one day we will all be reunited. What a wonderful day that will be! Love u and miss u always, yr baby sister, becky !

God be with the family I met Sarah years ago she and my sister Betty were good friends.Sarah may your soul rest in peace you are gone but will never be forgotten. From Tully and all the Mitchell family.

I first met Sarah when my daughter, Jennifer, became the wife of her son, Gary. Sarah was always warm and friendly. She was a very strong Lady in a quiet type manner.
I will miss her terribly and will keep her in my thoughts and prayers. May she rest in peace with our Lord. May the Family find comfort in knowing that she is now at peace and free of pain. God bless and keep all of you.

AVIS DE DÉCÈS

Sarah Sturgis

24 juillet 1945 – 11 mai 2015

Miller Jones Mortuary and Crematory

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