The picture of my sister Gayle was taken on the grounds of the Tower of London during our trip to England in the 1990s. We were headed to visit the Norman chapel inside the White Tower. I stopped to take a picture, and Gayle walked on. Today is the sixth anniversary of my sister's death. With courage, she fought off lymphoma 17 years before she died from pancreatic cancer. I still miss her. For me, the picture is a stunning metaphor for Gayle's walking away from all of us who love her.
Please pray for her husband, Frank and her three children, two grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. Please pray for me and for her many friends who still miss her. She was a wonderful person. She loved to joke and laugh, and she loved a good party. She was a good wife, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. She was a good sister and a good friend to me.
For the past ten days or so, I've been unusually doleful, and I've wondered why. There's a good bit going on in my family that could make me sad, but I'm fairly resilient, with my melancholy times lasting only a day or so. Yesterday, it dawned on me that in the days before the anniversary of Gayle's death, I grieve each year, even though I'm not constantly thinking about the approaching anniversary. Still, the body clock says it's a time to grieve.
WHY COULDN'T YOU STAY?
You walked away; you left us
Bereft, bereaved.
How could you go?
It wasn't your doing,
I know, I know.
Yet, how could you go?
Two years passed and gone,
Slipped away.
After you left, I'd think
I'll call her; I'll email.
Oh no! None of that!
You won't answer.
Now I know you're gone.
No thoughts of visits to come,
Seeing your face, hearing your voice,
The sound of your laughter.
Sadness lingers, emptiness remains.
Why couldn't you stay?
June Butler - 04-27-08
