On The Day My Sister Died

​I have spent over a year contemplating, planning, organizing, researching and writing a book. It’s very personal and I’m still a few months out of completion, but I’m learning a lot.
I’m learning about this writing and blogging industry, but I’m also learning about myself, my history, and my God.

You see, this book is about my family. It’s about my oldest sister, it’s about my mom, it’s about my dad, and it’s about some of the tough stuff. It’s about the ugly of life that, for so long, I packaged up in a tidy wrapper and tucked in to the deepest pockets of my heart and slapped a big red sticker on it that said “open at your own risk.” 

The truth is my sister died on March 16, 1989. In the physical sense my sister survived the car accident that sent her into the windshield of the truck she was riding in. With impossible gratitude to a witness to the car accident who stopped, pulled her from the vehicle, and brought her back until paramedics arrived I am able to say she is alive. But she did not survive.

In a relational sense, she died that day. Let me clarify. The person that was pulled from the wreckage was not the same 10-year-old little girl that climbed in. My parents will say that was how they moved forward after the tragedy. They had to put one foot in front of the other somehow and letting go of the daughter they had and embracing the one in front of them was easier done by nearly completely separating the two.

People often ask me what it was like. They’ll say things, well intentioned things, like “it must have been so hard growing up like that.” But, until recently, I never knew that 10-year-old, blonde haired little girl with the sparkling personality. Until I started really talking to my parents and listening to their stories about her, and until I had children of my own to grasp the magnitude of the situation; and until I learned to ask the right questions, read through articles, and sift through mountains of pictures, I didn’t know that little girl. I was only four when she was taken away so my memory does not serve me in conjuring images and stories of her prior.

However, I do know the girl that came home to us. I know how she fought, and still fights, every day to serve the Lord from her chair and her bed. I know how she loves with her smile and she sings with her laugh. I know how she always laughed at my jokes (fart jokes are her favorite) and she was never hesitant to let you ride on her lap (or on the back of her chair) to do donuts in the parking lot.

I know the woman who, thanks to the Lord’s protection, has no concept of what she has missed out on: dating, a husband, children, a career, independence. I know the woman who rejoices with what she has: two nieces, one nephew, a slew of colorful socks, and a never ending supply of Clemson Tigers paraphernalia.

I know the woman who still gets giddy when a handsome young man walks in the room, much like her 10-year-old self probably did. I know the woman who still loves to shop with her mom and gets impatient when it’s time to open presents on Christmas. I know the woman who wouldn’t hesitate to laugh hysterically if you fell on your face.

I know the woman who, if you ask her, would tell you that the Lord sustains her. That He talks with her, sits with her, and has shown her things we have yet to see on this earth.​

I know the woman who, though she can’t embrace you on her own, provides the warmest hugs. I know the girl that cried at our sister’s wedding and who rejoices at funerals. I know the woman who longs, every day, to see her Savior, to be freed from her constraints, to be relieved from her pain, to run and sing and dance again.

I know the woman who, if you ask her, would tell you that the Lord sustains her. That He talks with her, sits with her, and has shown her things we have yet to see on this earth.
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And, although I am getting to know the girl that died on the road that day, I am increasingly aware of the beauty that lies in the little girl that came home. So, I guess, in response to the statement “that must have been so hard growing up like that,” I would say that yes, yes it was. At times it was hard.

It was really hard to go to a restaurant and not be able to get through the front door because it was too narrow or had too many stairs. It was hard walking through the mall and having everyone stare at you like you were a special exhibit at the zoo. It was hard sitting in ICU waiting rooms not knowing if she was going to survive the most recent battle with pneumonia. It’s hard seeing the incompetence and carelessness of some of the people called caregivers, nurses, and even doctors.

 However, I wouldn’t trade the sister I have with the one from the pictures. That seems like such a harsh thing to say and it feels strange typing it. Growing up, I often regretted her situation and still, practically speaking, I do now too.

But I can embrace the truth that God is good. After all of this, God is good. His goodness surpasses our concept of the word, so I can accept that the sister that came home is just the sister I was meant to have. She is just the person she was born to be. In a perfect world, no, she wouldn’t be like this. But we don’t live in a perfect world.
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We were never meant to be our own source of joy, our own source of meaning, or our own source of redemption. If we live like that, no matter how “perfect” our lives are, we will never be satisfied with it. However, by the grace of God, every once in a while, He gives us a living breathing example of His redemption in our everyday lives – where something imperfect, something down right ruinous is made glorious. And, I can tell you, my sister really is GLORIOUS! 

“Consider your own call, brothers and sisters: not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are, so that no one might boast in the presence of God. He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption, in order that, as it is written, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” 1 Corinthians 1:26-31

I truly can’t wait for you to read her and my mother’s stories. I may start posting little glimpses of it here. Is that something you’d like to see? If so, comment and let me know.