I wept, grief stricken about them one evening a few weeks ago. I had not cried about my deceased family members for years. My sister, one year older than I; my brother one year younger; my father and his brother and their mother; an older sister that I never knew. All dead from Huntington’s Disease, an hereditary disease in our family that took them, but for some reason, spared me.
I remember flying to or from a business meeting some years ago. As I peered out of the plane’s window, a spectacular sunset painted the sky pink and orange and purple. Tears welled in my eyes – for the beauty of the scene and for my sister and brother and father who never got to see such an incredible sight from 30,000 feet. Who would never see something this beautiful.
I do not remember what triggered my recent thoughts about Pam and Terry and Daddy and Uncle Arthur and Mother Bea and Linda. I do recall that I knew I had not yet resolved my feelings of guilt and unworthiness around their dying and my living. Especially my sister, Pam, with whom I was closest, with whom I shared a room until I grew up and moved away. Who would come over to my twin bed in the middle of the night and push the covers away from my face because she was afraid I would suffocate. Who was smarter than I, and stronger and more talented and loved God more than I did. Why was she taken while I lived.?
And then I felt that still small voice of God speaking to me. Why are you crying for Pam, for them all? They are fine; I’ve got them. They are with me. They are not struggling or in pain; they are safe and in peace. The question you must deal with is not why they are gone, but why you are still here? Who you are and how you are and what you are to be about. You deal with your life. They are taken care of. They are in joy. Leave them to me; now let’s talk about you…
Sunset In Biarritz – Manuel González Olaechea y Franco – Wikimedia Creative Commons
First Posted At Journey of a Grown up Black Woman