loss
The soft glow of light shines from my bedside lamp. Snuggled against the pillows, this place is my safe haven. A place I find rest and peace from the busyness of each day.
I find a familiar episode of Gilmore Girls and settle in to watch, but more importantly, to remember. My sister Katrina loved this show. And it was one of the last things we did together. We’d sit on her bed, she too weak to get up, hunkered down with drinks or snacks or just each other to watch episodes together.
We’d laugh and cry, interspersing our own conversation against the replayed episodes we’d watched more than a few times.
“I wonder what your kids will be like?” she’d say. I’d smile and tell her my hopes for the future with my then-boyfriend-now-husband Kyle.
“I can’t wait for you to have babies,” she’d respond. “I can’t wait to watch our kids grow up together.”
I find a familiar episode of Gilmore Girls and settle in to watch, but more importantly, to remember. My sister Katrina loved this show. And it was one of the last things we did together. We’d sit on her bed, she too weak to get up, hunkered down with drinks or snacks or just each other to watch episodes together.
We’d laugh and cry, interspersing our own conversation against the replayed episodes we’d watched more than a few times.
“I wonder what your kids will be like?” she’d say. I’d smile and tell her my hopes for the future with my then-boyfriend-now-husband Kyle.
“I can’t wait for you to have babies,” she’d respond. “I can’t wait to watch our kids grow up together.”
We spent this past week in Colorado with family and friends. For the first several nights, we’d gather at our house, Kyle cooking and everyone bringing something to share.
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| One of our nightly meals together! |
We gather to Climb for Katrina. And before supper, I decide to offer a toast. As I raise my glass, my voice catches in my throat. Carol wraps her arm around my waist, offering strength and understanding of loved ones now gone. I smile at her as I continue and we toast to friends and family, Colorado and the Hope Hike, and then to Katrina and all that her life represented.
We end with cheers and hugs and laughter as kids scurry past to get food and drinks, then rush off to play again with friends.
We end with cheers and hugs and laughter as kids scurry past to get food and drinks, then rush off to play again with friends.
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| Image by Nathan Troop via Flickr |
It is the tenth anniversary of the death of one of my dearest friends, who died at age 28 after a long battle with cancer.
I look back at myself ten short/long years ago -- so naive, such a beginner in so many ways, a young woman absolutely convinced that Katrina's legacy would be to conquer cancer and to share her amazing testimony with women the world over.
Her death was devastating, and it was the biggest test of my young faith -- until I prayed for God to show me her legacy, to show me that her life, cut short, still had an eternal impact.
He did, and he continues to do so even these ten years later.
In my mind’s eye, she is larger than life – clear blue eyes still laughing, no more wrinkles than she had when she died at 28. While my own eyes have started to crinkle and form lines in the corners, she is still eternally young. While I peer anxiously at my roots to search for gray hairs or smooth work-worn hands over hips gone soft from two children, she remains eternally beautiful.
And even though it’s been eight years since she died in 2005, I still talk to her when I’m all alone.
Just like New Orleans is still rebuilding its city eight years after Hurricane Katrina swept through; I’m still rebuilding my heart after the loss of my own dear sister Katrina.
There are parts of me that know that she's gone. The rational part that knows that life and death are equal halves of the same coin; the emotional part that held her soft, manicured hands in her final moments, who whispered brokenly: It's ok. You can go. I love you. The part of me that knows that she was meant for something more.
The ultimate act of unselfishness is to let someone go, even when we are desperate for them to stay. But the reality of letting go is a mirror for us of the love God has for us, proven by sending his son to earth, knowing he would die. Not from terminal illness or cancer, a heart attack or stroke, but from something as common and as devastating as sin.
I can’t explain it, exactly. But the legacy my sister left was the same one Jesus has bequeathed us, his children: Love. And eternal life. So when my oldest daughter proudly tells me her full name -- Elise Katrina Demery -- and she asks me, for perhaps the hundredth time, who Katrina was -- I have the chance to tell her about the auntie who lives in Heaven with Jesus, who we'll see again someday.
And in the evening, as I get the baby ready for bed, I sing a song that rises up from memories of days at First Baptist Church, wooden pews and worn carpet, voices singing as one while the piano plays. Noelle pauses her constant stream of babble as I start to sing "Blest Be the Tie that Binds":
Blest be the tie that binds
our hearts in Christian love;
the fellowship of kindred minds
is like to that above.
Before our Father's throne
we pour our ardent prayers;
our fears, our hopes, our aims are one,
our comforts and our cares.
We share each other's woes,
our mutual burdens bear;
and often for each other flows
the sympathizing tear.
When I reach the final verse, my heart stutters, throat closing and eyes tearing up. But as my daughter smiles at me, I catch my breath and smile, too, the pain and the pleasure of life mingled as they so often are.
When we asunder part,
it gives us inward pain;
but we shall still be joined in heart,
and hope to meet again.
Our newest book, 100 Daily Acts of Friendship for Girls, is written specifically for girls ages 8-12 as they navigate friendships in upper elementary and middle school. With a scripture, short story, reflection questions and 50 fun activities to do with you or friends, it's a wonderful way to encourage your daughter, niece, granddaughter, God daughter and her friends to build healthy friendships from an early age.
Kristin, Kendra, and Julie
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| My beautiful sister Katrina |
Just like New Orleans is still rebuilding its city eight years after Hurricane Katrina swept through; I’m still rebuilding my heart after the loss of my own dear sister Katrina.
There are parts of me that know that she's gone. The rational part that knows that life and death are equal halves of the same coin; the emotional part that held her soft, manicured hands in her final moments, who whispered brokenly: It's ok. You can go. I love you. The part of me that knows that she was meant for something more.
The ultimate act of unselfishness is to let someone go, even when we are desperate for them to stay. But the reality of letting go is a mirror for us of the love God has for us, proven by sending his son to earth, knowing he would die. Not from terminal illness or cancer, a heart attack or stroke, but from something as common and as devastating as sin.
I can’t explain it, exactly. But the legacy my sister left was the same one Jesus has bequeathed us, his children: Love. And eternal life. So when my oldest daughter proudly tells me her full name -- Elise Katrina Demery -- and she asks me, for perhaps the hundredth time, who Katrina was -- I have the chance to tell her about the auntie who lives in Heaven with Jesus, who we'll see again someday.
And in the evening, as I get the baby ready for bed, I sing a song that rises up from memories of days at First Baptist Church, wooden pews and worn carpet, voices singing as one while the piano plays. Noelle pauses her constant stream of babble as I start to sing "Blest Be the Tie that Binds":
Blest be the tie that binds
our hearts in Christian love;
the fellowship of kindred minds
is like to that above.
Before our Father's throne
we pour our ardent prayers;
our fears, our hopes, our aims are one,
our comforts and our cares.
We share each other's woes,
our mutual burdens bear;
and often for each other flows
the sympathizing tear.
When I reach the final verse, my heart stutters, throat closing and eyes tearing up. But as my daughter smiles at me, I catch my breath and smile, too, the pain and the pleasure of life mingled as they so often are.
When we asunder part,
it gives us inward pain;
but we shall still be joined in heart,
and hope to meet again.
Are you looking for resources around kindness, friendship and intentional living? Have you checked out our books?
And our adult friendship devotional, The One Year Daily Acts of Friendship is a perfect compliment to our book for tweens. With a daily scripture, story, and friendship prompt, its encouraging and slightly challenging (in a good way!) as you find, keep, and love your friends.
We've also written two kindness devotionals, The One Year Daily Acts of Kindness and 100 Days of Kindness. They tell the story of how our families embarked on a one-year journey of kindness, and include our successes, failures, and the encouragement you need as a family to incorporate kindness into your own life.
We would love to walk alongside you in encouragement, inspiration, and community. You can follow us on Facebook and Instagram as The Ruth Experience or sign up for our monthly newsletter (no spam, ever), here.
We would love to walk alongside you in encouragement, inspiration, and community. You can follow us on Facebook and Instagram as The Ruth Experience or sign up for our monthly newsletter (no spam, ever), here.
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We're in this together,
Kristin, Kendra, and Julie
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