It always rains on Sunday

I was awakened early one morning by the sound of someone or something howling into the telephone next to my bed. At first, I thought it was a crank call and nearly hung up. But something told me that the individual on the other end of the line was suffering more than anyone I had ever known.

Eventually, I realized it was my only sister, suffering through a pain so searing and distressing, that I could not comprehend it. Her daughter had fallen asleep while driving and had left the interstate and had been hit by a train killing two of her three children. The third one had a broken neck, crushed legs and broken arm. He was also bleeding into his brain.

You need to know that my sister loved, make that stronger than love, worshipped her grandchildren. Especially the five year-old girl, Leanne. And they loved her. In fact, Leanne's favorite person I am sure, was my sister. They had almost a symbiotic relationship. They fed off each other's love.

The pain and distress I heard in my sister's voice will remain with me the rest of my life.

The funerals will be held October 11, 2006. I will go and stand by my sister and pull her back from entering their tombs and dying there with them. I will keep one foot firmly planted on living soil and one hand firmly grasping her belt so that if she goes she must also take me with her. I shall pray for rain.