Tuesday, December 29, 2020

Lindy and Snow

Five years ago on this date,  I drove over the hill to spend what would be my last hours with my sister.   I noted the fog and I snapped some pictures.   The fog mirrored my feelings that day.   

Leaving her house later, after being with her alone while she took her last breath, and talking to her about her mansion with snow, the one that God had likely prepared for her,  a clear sky with a ray of sunshine peeked through ominous clouds.  So I snapped another picture.

I thought about the Charlie Brown Christmas tree that decorated her table for the last couple of years...  and how it seemed symbolic of her failing health. 

The funeral home viewings brought many family and friends together to celebrate her life.  I learned a lot about my sister.  We shared stories and we laughed and cried.  

Lindy had a powerful personality, the kind that's not easily forgotten.  She said what was on her mind, and had a lot of wisdom to share with those willing to listen.

She loved lots of snow, building snowmen, making snow angels, and sled riding.   She hoped God would put her in charge of the weather when she entered Heaven, and that would mean only one thing - A lot of snow! 

The warmer temperatures, fog, and rain that had been upon us up until then, disappeared soon after Lindy took her last breath. 

It was surreal, walking out of the funeral home that dark Sunday night, to a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow.  The earth was eerily quiet, and the snow fell heavily around me.  I looked up and felt the icy flakes collecting on my face and I smiled.   In the dark and quiet of the night, I whispered...   Winter has arrived, dear sister.  You must be pleased.   

The day of her funeral, blizzard-like conditions and bitter temperatures followed the funeral precession up the mountain and to the cemetery.  Wind whipped at the funeral tent and as everyone scurried to get into the building and out of the cold.   I went up and pulled a daisy from the flowers that laid atop her bed of rest and I whispered, "I hope you're happy." 

Happy, indeed.  For her memory will continue to bring happiness to many of us - the loved ones she left behind. 

~~ Until we meet again ~~