Dear Kristi . . .

My sister Kristi went to heaven twenty years ago today. She would have turned forty this past December 6. If I could talk to her, this is what I might begin to say to her.

Dear Kristi,

Wow! Twenty years ago today you went to heaven to be with Jesus. Sometimes it seems like time has flown past in a blur, but other times--when I think about all that has happened in twenty years, the others who have left us, the new people that have come into my life, the fact that I've very nearly raised two children to adulthod--it seems like I feel every second of that twenty years.

You know, of course, about Jon. I'm sure you're with him often--maybe even now. He probably told you about Katie and Jonathan. I'm so sorry that he didn't get to know them very long. I'm so sorry you didn't get to know them at all. Did he tell you what they were like when he had to leave them? Katie in so many ways reminds me of you--good and bad. She really doesn't look anything like you--except for her height--and Jon probably told you about her gorgeous red hair. We've often wondered if you asked God to send us a little redhead. And you know she's named after you--Kathleen Kristi Lynn. What else could I have named her?

She's stubborn like you, likes to talk, loves music, and definitely has her own sense of style--like you. She keeps her room a mess. She takes joy in little children--like you did. Mom says Katie was her "rainbow," her promise that there was still good in this life. It's a little crazy, but she does something else weird that you did--she doesn't wear socks in the winter. Everytime I see her all bundled up--coat, hat, and gloves--I look down at her feet, and she's not wearing any socks because "they don't look good with flats." And I immediately think of you. Even after twenty years, you're not far from the edges of my mind.

And Jonathan! You would have loved seeing him as a little boy. I look at pictures of  him from the past, and he was, without a doubt, the most beautiful little boy I've ever seen. It's hard to tell, at this point (he's sixteen), just who he is and what he will become, but he's smart--like Jon. He loves history and politics. He and Dad are best buddies--and always have been. They watch car races together, go to Taco Bell together (can you believe Dad eats at Taco Bell?), and Jonathan tells him the things he doesn't tell anyone else. It's been hard for him, all these years, having to live with two women, but he's starting to grow up, and I'm eager to see how God will use him and his abilities.

The years after Jon went to heaven were pretty hard. Here I was--early thirties, two little kids, and stuck in Michigan--away from my family. Mom and Dad were still reeling from losing you, and then Jon. They are my heroes, though. They moved up to Michigan, and they helped me raise the kids. We have quality parents. I taught school for awhile, had a brief stint working in a bookstore, went a couple of rounds with depression, dated (ugh!--a topic I'll save till I see you), and finally ended up with a job I love. All those years I couldn't help but wonder why God would take both you and Jon. So many times I've wished I could have my sister to pour my heart out to; to go shopping with; to make me laugh like you always did; to go on weekend getaways; to love on my poor, fatherless kids. I needed you after Jon died, so I guess it's something I'll never understand. One of the times I miss you the most is when I see sisters together--like Mom and Aunt Lou or Aunt Carol. I have some dear friends that I thank God for, but none of them could ever be you to me.

The good news: God is faithful, and He's carried me through all of this stuff. I am a different (and better)person for having suffered loss. Although He's taken away, He's also given--in abundance. I have Mom and Dad and Katie and Jonathan, Tim and Zella and Elizabeth and Garrett. (I'll let Tim tell you about them--but I love to see the cousins together, and you would too.) And I've been surprised by joy, to borrow a phrase. Almost two years ago, God gave me Henry, a better man than I could have asked for or imagined. When we got engaged, Katie said, "Mom, you're like a Disney princess," and that's how I've felt because that's how he always treats me. It's strange that someone so dear to me knows nothing of you, but he knows loss like I do. His younger brother died back in the nineties. He knows pain. He loves music and has a beautiful tenor voice. He's a godly man, and he loves Katie and Jonathan too. By the way--I have my dream job. I'm an editor at a Christian book publishing company. Life is good.

But I do miss you so, and I think about you everyday. One day soon we will all be together again. By then, January 16 will be long forgotten as a day of sadness. I can't wait to join you in the Great Adventure--to introduce you to my children, to sing with you, laugh with you, talk to you, my little sister.

Love,
Annette