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 fifth anniversary of my sister's passing. 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 walk 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.
This past Holy Week, I've been unusually sad, and I've wondered why. I take the week to heart, but usually not as much as this year. Then, on Monday, it dawned on me that in the days before the anniversary of Gayle's passing, I grieve each year, even when I'm not consciously aware that the anniversary approaches. Holy Week coincided with the period before the anniversary. Aha!
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
Note: Reposted from last year with editing.