Thursday, January 7, 2016

Lindy and Weather

Last Monday as I drove over the hill to spend what would be my last hours with my sister, I noted the fog.  It mirrored my feelings.  The hopelessness in my heart.  The sad that had replaced Christmas magic from just days earlier.  

Leaving her house later that day, after the death.  The crying.  The coroner.  The taking her away in a bag.  The dog lunging...  trying to get into the other room where his mama was being taken from him.    The family sobbing and holding onto one another.  The empty, sick feeling that replaced her presence.  Now, a clear sky.  Fog, lifted.  A ray of sunshine peeking through ominous clouds.

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

The funeral home viewings brought so many of family and friends together to celebrate her life.  I learned a lot about my sister.  Things I did not know before.  I met so many people who loved her.  We shared stories and we laughed and cried.   I was living a dream.  This could not be happening.  Is it true that she would no longer be in my life?  I prayed for strength.

My sister Lindy was real.  She had a powerful personality, one that will not be easily forgotten.  She said what was on her mind, and I admired that in her.

She loved lots of snow.  Building snowmen.  Making snow angels.  Sled riding.  Playing in the snow.  She was often noted as saying that she hoped that God would put her in charge of the weather when she entered Heaven so she would be assured of having plenty of snow.

Now, I don't know for sure exactly how all that works.  Death.  Rest.  Souls.  Heaven.

But what I do know is that the warmer temps and fog and rain that had been our constant companion throughout the first part of our winter died off the day Lindy took her last breath.

As we walked out of the funeral home on Sunday night in dark and quiet of the night, snow was falling and had blanketed the earth.  Winter had arrived.  It was a bit eerie.  A twilight zone moment.

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