My sister, Linda Jean, died today. I can't process this. I know she is gone, and I know she is with God, somehow, someway, however it is when we close our eyes for the last time in this life and awake to what comes. I feel so empty.
I know her children are grown, and now have to make difficult decisions. I pray for them. I feel for them.
I will not be able to attend her funeral, and that seems so wrong. However, that is how it is. I will miss her very much. We didn't talk that often, but we did talk, and she did read this blog.
Growing up, Linda was always laughing. She seemed to have the wonderful ability to see the absurd in everyday life, and find the humor there. When I was eight, I watched her breastfeed her baby in absolute awe and wonder. I said, "I didn't know you could do that." She replied, "Well, what did you think they were for?" I said, "Decoration." I made up my mind that if I ever had a baby, I would breastfeed it. And I did.
When she moved to California, we would talk maybe every few years. Somehow, we kept in touch. I am glad I talked with her. I'm glad she knew that I loved her.
Around the year 2000, she came home for a visit, with her husband, Hank. He was a genuine Indian Chief. Of course, we talked and laughed. We got a big kick out of listening to my father, who couldn't hear, and his brother Tommy, who couldn't hear either, have two different conversations at the same time. Every so often they would look at each other and say, "Yep."
She joined the marines after high school, and married a Sergeant. That didn't last long, as I recall. She married a mechanic, then a Merchant Marine, and lastly, an Indian Chief. I think that's pretty impressive.
She followed her own path all her life. No matter what anyone thought, she did what her heart told her to do. I respect that.
I miss her.
Once there was six of us, and now there is only 3. And, I wonder, just how did this happen so fast?