Nine Years

Nine years ago today, my sister, Kristen, died. In following family tradition, we met for breakfast. Today is also my parents' 44th wedding anniversary, so my parents, three sisters and I met at a local, family-owned restaurant.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I looked around to see if I recognized any cars. I saw my parents' car, so I hopped out and walked toward the restaurant. I thought I heard my sisters talking, so I stopped and looked around. I didn't see anyone, so I continued walking. Then, very distinctly, I heard my sister, Kate say (in a sing-songy voice) "Laurie." (No one calls me Laurie, except family. I do not like to be called Laurie.) Again, I stopped, looked around and said (out loud), "I hear you. I just don't see you." And nothing. No sisters in sight. No other voices. I walked into the glass vestibule at the restaurant and a police officer was standing there smiling at me. (I'm hoping he didn't think I was too loony.)

I walked into the restaurant and only my parents were there. My sisters arrived five minutes later. They were not in the parking lot. They did not call my name. But I heard it. Kate's voice is similar to Kristen's voice. We all joked that Krissy was playing a game with me and said to our grandmother, "Hey, Mom-Mom, watch this ..." and then called my name.

Whatever it was, it was a tender mercy of the Lord. And it is surely something I never want to forget.