Tired and drained from all the conflicts slamming into me. I wish I was quick on my feet so I could dodge them. Instead, I'm a slow moving target getting hit by paint balls. SPLAT!
I've coined this month as death February. I do so because six years ago I had two significant losses. Today is the anniversary of my sister's best friend, who grew to be my friend, who was killed in an automobile accident.
Cathy was on her way to pick up her son and take him to school. Afterwards, she planned on going to my sister's house. But things quickly changed.
It was a cold winter morning with drifting snow and patches of black ice. She hit a sheet of black ice. Her car rolled over a couple of times, skid on the roof, then crashed into a telephone pole on the driver's side.
The woman in the car that saw what happened stopped to see if she could help. The man who heard the crash came running out of his house. Turns out he was a pastor. The woman knelt down near the broken windshield. She heard Cathy faintly moaning. She reached in, her own hand being cut and held Cathy's hand. She reassured Cathy that she was not alone.
Seconds later, Cathy died.
Cathy was in twelve step groups just like our family. She struggled with sobriety. She suffered from chronic pain and mental illness. Our childhoods and diagnoses' were alike more than different. Whenever we saw each other, we'd have a nice exchange on a deep level.
When Cathy died, I lost the one person who really understood me.
My other sister called me at work to tell me Cathy had died. I immediately asked if our other sister knew of the accident yet. No one could find her to tell her. I left work.
I drove to the accident scene. What I saw I will remember for a long time. Scattered in the snow and ice were car parts: foam, windshield pieces, black plastic parts, coins, insurance cards, coffee cards, jewelry and other personal property. I could see the imprints in the snow of where the car finally rested. There was blood. I stood there trying to get a hold of it but that would take several more weeks and years.
My other sister and I finally caught up with her. She was in shock and disbelief. All of us were concerned for Cathy's children. They knew my sister as their extended family.
It was a horrible day.
It was a horrible week.
It's been a hard six years.
Nothing prepares you for seeing someone you love in a casket. Seeing her face so swollen, the cuts covered up with makeup and other deformities - there are no words.
Cathy's legacy lives on in her four children. They were everything to her. She was a fully devoted follower of Christ. I have no doubt about her eternal resting place.
Her sister had a permanent cross made and it's attached to a permanent fence where she died. Each year I bring flowers to that place as a way expressing my love for Cathy and how often I miss talking to her.
Stress?
Yeah.
Still.
