Sandra pulled
herself as close to the screen as her desk would allow. A new document was
opened, spotless white pixels reaching their static to the hair behind her ears. With scribbled notes in front of her, everything was
set for her to start. But it took three or four deep breaths before she
actually put her fingers to the keys.
'Connie wasn't
anybody special or extraordinary. Connie wasn't even a person,
actually. You see, dear readers, Connie was a doll, with nothing remarkably imprinting about her. Fake blonde hair, coarse as straw. Painted green eyes and
freckles over plastic cheeks and a yellow and pink striped dress over a stained
cloth body. The stains ranged from Miranda's snot, to Dad's coffee, to
Mom's potting soil. Connie was lucky to have the dress to cover it all
up. She used to have a removable pair of white sandals too, with pink
tulips sewn on the toes. She only has one now and it's faded far from white.'
'It was my
Grandma Nelson who spotted Connie, sitting with her reject friends on a thrift
store shelf. She was the only one of them still fresh and new in her box.
Grandma bought her immediately and wrapped her up the next day. I still
remember spying that big silver bow under a five-foot Christmas tree and
praying that it was mine to unwrap. But no, it was for my little sister,
Miranda- Mindy. I've mentioned her before...'
Yes, she
certainly had. Sandra licked her top lip, recalling her column where she'd
discussed the childhood competition to touch your nose with your tongue. She
and Mindy had challenged each other every week of the summer Mindy was six and
she was eleven. She'd written about to emphasize the moments that reflect
between generations.
'It's not that I
was jealous of Connie; I was hoping for a baton or pom-pons that
Christmas. When Mindy opened her up, she laughed so hard and hugged her so
tight. From that day on, that was where Connie stayed, tucked securely under
Mindy's arm. Having her there helped a lot through Mindy's illness.'
Sandra broke off
from her key strokes, rereading her last sentence. She didn't really see
the words though. Oh Lord, could she even do this? But then, was God giving her a choice? Her column was due in ten hours and it was always
preferable that she finish it before picking the kids up from school. Sandra
inhaled the gentle fragrance of jasmine; her 'muse' candle, lit for every
column written through her twelve years at the paper. She placed her fingers
back over the keyboard.
'Mindy's
illness was a cancer of the lobes that ate at her before ending her fight
just before her 15th birthday. Almost ten years, nearly 3,650 days since
Connie's arrival. Some of those days, none of us could be there for
Mindy, when she really needed us. One of us even, to make her in and out stays
at the hospital bareable. Mindy, while a lot of quality things, was
whiny and there were no shortage of complaints when it came to the
hospital. She needed somebody to hear every whine, every tear, every inside
joke with the nurses. And Connie was it, when no one else could be. It was
petty, but we all probably put more faith in Connie then we realized. Mindy was
always a foot too short, several pounds too light, too pale and sweet to be
left completely alone. With Connie, at least, I could rest easy, feeling that
she wasn't.'
The
tears were burning, the emotions flooding. Sandra pushed back from her
computer, her face meeting her hands. They were open to her sobs, like they had
always been. After a few unhinged moments, Sandra sucked in a sigh through her
quaking fingers. Why was there so much pain? After 16 years, how could there be
anymore to feel? Did God want her heart in two pieces? But Sandra knew the
answer halfway through the question. Sweetly broken and wholly surrendered,
that had been Mindy's deliverance unto God. He didn't long for pain for His
children anymore then Sandra did. Yet there seemed so many reasons to feel it.
Her success as a
columnist, her husband of 11 years; their four children, two of which were twin
boys! Mindy had been the one to want twins! She had also wanted a New England
Cottage and a degree in culinary school. With all the power swirling in the
world, why couldn't God have granted her sister those little things?
Sandra raised her
head with a heave of her chest, pulling back up to her computer. 'Connie was
Mindy's ear to listen, her shoulder to cry on, with a relentless smile
that could lift any sick girl's spirits. Connie knew Mindy better then any
of us could hope to and it's a shame that she can never tell me all that there
was to know. That's one of the reasons I've held onto her since
Mindy's death. Holding onto anything that- as I've convinced myself- will make
the pain of Mindy's unfair death stop.'
Sandra felt near
queasy with her rapid pounding of the keys. But, it was helping. That had been
God's plan all along; to help and in the end, to heal.
'That's all
gone now. A few days ago, my husband absent-mindedly threw Connie away. It
was certainly past-due, she was a filthy rag doll, as anyone could tell.
But she was Mindy's last remnant for me. And losing her has dragged
up all the familiar, nauseating feelings that all families feel when they
lose a loved one. I speak to those families now when I state my point in this
lengthy column. Letting go.'
'There's a
pain that never goes away. It starts when your loved one leaves and you don't
see the end of it until your own death. Yet, it's this pain that teaches us
appreciation, patience, and perception, and can sometimes be just the
thing to change a person. But there's always two sides to a coin. Too often we
allow this pain and hurt and anguish to control our lives to an unhealthy degree.
It can prevent us from moving forward, even when our lives give
every appearance of doing so. Mine was a doll that I couldn't
part with; that I made time to take out and ponder over, like a fifth child.'
"My Lord has
taught me better then to be angry with Mindy's dying. Mindy knew God and I know
that brought an ending to her suffering. Death is the natural and
spiritual passing of every being. But not being in anger didn't put
me in acceptance of my sister's death.'
'For 16 years, my
thoughts have dwelled on Mindy leaving before she could be the maid of honor at
my wedding or my lunch buddy in the middle of a busy week. To be the
over-doting aunt to our children... that's harsh. But, it's reality. So in
short, this column is my acceptance of Mindy's death. My acceptance
and my moving on. Mindy was the person God needed her to be, up until the day
she died. I have finally realized that in order to follow her example, I have
to let her go.'
Sandra's arms were about ready to fall off, but the tension
surprisingly melted off as she typed the last words. Done, and done... she
clicked into the Menu and scrolled down. She hit Save.
THE END
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