Song Of Tears

Snow stones slid
Across ice.
Pained face—
Pressed,
Knotted lace . . . window pane.

Feelings that ebb and swell tighten in my throat, but I hold back the tears. She is so small and frail now. Her oxygen tube a necessity like an alien movie. The box of Kleenex showcases a sickroom. A sickroom filled with sunshine streaming in through the window, painfully reminding me that life is normal everywhere else. The room is filled with flowers . . . little cards attached, a Christmas tree and remnants of ribbon from a Christmas celebrated a few days early. I hug her and feel her shaking inside. If only I could hug the cancer out of her body.
My mind’s eye still sees her laughing and calling out to me . . . "Come on, let’s go— Let’s go to the coast today." "What?" "Let’s go!" "But we can’t just go . . ." "Of course we can." We went to the coast that day and played in the sand. We walked the beach with the wind in our hair and we laughed. Everything was funny. The next time I saw her she said, "Come go to the movies with me. Patriot opens today and I need someone to cry with me." "Do you like Mel Gibson?" "Yes, he’s my favorite." "Mine too." We went to the movies and cried together.

We’ve laughed together and cried together. We’ve prayed together. We’ve had lunch together and grown together. She is my sister in the Lord. She is my sister.

Hugging her mother as I leave is most difficult. Tears well in her eyes as she whispers, "Why is God taking her instead of me?" Her questioning look expects an answer from me. I have none.