Proof The Bible Is True

Purple was my twin sister Suzy’s favorite color. It was the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses on her wedding day, the color of the sweater she had worn most often, a gift from me.

 

And now, on a cold, rainy day in March, I stood in her driveway with my family, Suzy’s children and her husband, all of us clutching purple balloons, our eyes wet with tears. In a minute we would release our grip and the balloons would float up to the heavens. The balloons were our way of letting go. Moving on.

 

It had been exactly two years since that horrible day when Suzy had a massive stroke and died at the age of 41. The grief and shock had slowly begun to fade, but I seemed to feel her absence even more.

 

I had depended on her for everything–her good humor, her common sense, her organizational skills, her guidance, her voice on the phone reassuring me that I was doing the right thing. Now I seemed to need her more than ever.

 

Mom couldn’t be here with us for this last farewell. Her health had declined rapidly since Suzy’s death. She rarely left her home anymore. She’d become increasingly forgetful, didn’t get together with her friends, couldn’t even remember how to play cards. The mail was stacking up, the house was a mess. She kept asking me the same questions again and again when I dashed over every day from the school where I worked as a lunch lady.

 

If Suzy were around she’d help me find the right caregiver and the right nursing home, I thought, not for the first time.  Now I had to make the hard decisions. Alone.

 

Read More: Mysterious Ways: Heaven Sent