Sunday was August 28th. Twelve years earlier, my family was smaller (three very tiny children) but we were in the same neighborhood. Friends have a cabin just down the road from the campground, and we had spent the weekend together. We were away from television, radio and phone, and we spent the weekend relaxing and playing with our little children. August 28th was on Saturday in 1993, and we went down to the shore of Lake Tahoe to swim. There is an old building there, the Ehrmann Mansion, and as we all splashed in the water, my husband spoke of a time and a place far away where God Himself had mansions, and where He was preparing a place just for us to be with Him forever. It seemed incongruous that day -- young, healthy families, seemingly fixed to deep roots here in human time. Why speak of eternity?
When we arrived home, I will always remember our two older children tumbling out to play in the yard. John was with them, but our baby must have stayed napping in the car. I checked the answering machine and heard a message that changed my life forever. My mother had called, in the middle of Saturday night, to say that my sister had been in an accident. She said, in an unnaturally pitched voice, that my sister had been badly hurt, and that I should call the hospital to see if my mother was still there. "Still there? Why would she leave?" My heart was pounding, and my voice called to my husband in a way that had him running inside. There were many other messages on the machine, but message after message was someone hanging up. Finally, my mother's voice again, asking me to call her....at home. I called, and got the news that yes, my sister had died. It was a water skiing accident, the last run of the day, in the narrow passageways of a river delta.
She was my only sibling, in my not-so-close family. We were oil and water growing up, with every choice being opposites. Tuna vs. peanut butter and jelly. Clean vs. messy. Quiet vs. loud. Daring vs. cautious. But, as adults, we had one of those, "When I was five you...and when I was twelve you....and when you....it hurts" kind of conversations, and we became very close friends. When she went through a painful divorce, my friends and I packed her, moved her, and unpacked her. I babysat, I listened, and we grew as friends. Years later, she stood by my side as my matron-of-honor. She was in the waiting room down the hall when my first two children were born, but when I was expecting baby #3, I knew that I wanted her to be there. So, she was by my side to welcome my third born into the world, and she wrote to tell me it was one of the most important moments of her entire life. Three months later, she was gone. I didn't know she would die young. But, when we last said goodbye, she hugged me and said, "I love you." My family rarely hugged, and "I love you" was even rarer.
It has been twelve years, and the lessons of grief and healing have been taken to heart. But this year the anniversary has me feeling things I haven't felt for years. For the first time in those twelve years we have been invited to water ski. I can't, as much as I try to convince myself, but I am eager for my children to give it a try. I want them to feel the wind on their faces, and the spray of the wake as they fly through its mist. It is a great feeling.
On August 28th this year, after our worship service, we were splashing in the water below the Ehrmann Mansion once again. It was emotional to be there, on that of all days, but I could not help but think of Liz in her mansion quarters. If it is anything like here, there will be no peanut butter in her rooms. They will be perfectly spotless, and impeccably decorated. There will be plenty of surprises, and lots of laughter. Oh, how I miss my sister. As my parents have aged, and my father has died, I miss her support. But, far more than that, I miss having her to share memories with me. She remembered everything, and was happy to correct my slanted view. I miss her giggle, and I miss her generous spirit inspiring me. She never met my two youngest children, and yet I see more of my family's variety of spunk in my younger ones. Ah, yes, the family quirks will live on until we meet again in eternity.
When I returned home from camping on the 28th, we did the usual camping unloading, I took my required post-camping-bubble bath, and then I checked in on some of my blog friends before retiring. This post at Mental Multivitamin was perfectly timed. She says:
Simply put, it (her father's death) taught me that life is short. If I'm going to do something worthwhile with it, I need to it now -- not tomorrow or next week. Now. I need to find the joy or wonder or, at the very least, the lesson in each day's moments, not just for me but for my family.
Whether we have tasted it for ourselves or not, it is true. As we watch buildings fall at the hands of terrorists, or school shootings, or hurricane or tsunami aftermath coverage, the lesson is there. As we pass car accidents, or emergency rooms or funeral homes, we are given reminders that life on earth is passing by. I eagerly await eternity, and the chance to see the many people who have already died, but for now my job is to live with focus and determination, empowered by God's grace and, by that grace, to His glory. Eyes outward, attitude adjusted to reflect God's call on my life, and with a joy that says my life is a GIFT.
I have needed this time of reflection to remember where I have been, and to let the deep lessons sink in. Twelve years ago my life was changed, and I want to reflect the learning in the little choices I make everyday. I am not usually called upon to do big things in front of crowds that notice. I am in my small home, teaching my children, caring about my mother and adoring my husband. Small, private choices still require tender loving care! Today may be it - I refuse to let it go to waste.
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