One Thousand Words

I was 6 years old that Christmas eve. My little sister and I had been willingly tucked in to bed early that night, in anticipation of Santa’s arrival. I remember being awakened out of a deep sleep. My parents were dressed in their winter coats, headed to the hospital. A neighbor was there to watch us. The adults talked in hushed tones, anxiety in their voices.

The next morning as I sat playing with my new Easy Bake Oven, my mom sat crumpled in a chair uncharacteristically teary and quiet. I didn’t really grasp it at the time—but she had just lost her older sister, Evie, to an aneurysm.  Evie left a devoted husband and two teenage girls that adored her. I loved my cousins, Shelly and Patti, and looked up to them like big sisters. It wasn’t until I was much older that I began to deeply consider their loss.

The years passed. Shelly and Patti raised children of their own. Shelly moved to the West Coast, Patti stayed in the Midwest. They’ve become even more like sisters to me over time. My Mom loves them as her daughters, and their children as her grandchildren. Our family get-togethers are rare, but so precious. “The girls” all talk into the wee hours of the night, laughing and crying and sharing stories. 

Not long ago, after raising two girls of her own, Patti recounted that painful Christmas Eve. I could hear regret in her voice—for those things she wished she would’ve said to her mom.  My heart broke again for her as I considered how her loss had affected her life … her choices … her relationship with her girls, Jenny and Laura.  But here is what I’ve learned from her beautiful example: live passionately. Pay

attention to the details of your children’s lives because you might not get a second chance. Every day is a gift.

Last weekend, we all traveled to North Carolina for Jenny’s wedding. It was a beautiful event that, I know, Patti had envisioned for years. I snapped maybe 150 photos throughout the evening, but there is one that stands out. One photo that is, hands down, my favorite. In fact, I can’t look at it without crying. It is a photo of Patti, taken during the Daddy-Daughter dance. It is a moment frozen in time: all eyes in the room are on Jenny and her dad, I glance at Patti. She looks back at me and smiles. Laura stands beside her. It is a snapshot worth more than a thousand words. Her smile says … there is no place else in the world I’d rather be right now. It says, I’m so happy. I made it to see this day. It says, God is good. It says, LIVE like there is no tomorrow.