August 6th.
An anniversary.
Seventeen years have passed since my sister Michelle died. The morning of August 6, 1997.
Seventeen years is a long time, more than a decade, 71% of my life span to date. Almost three times the length of Michelle’s life span of nine years… She would’ve been 26 years old this spring, February 26, 2014.
Seventeen years has the power to erase the distinct sound of Michelle’s voice in my ears, but it doesn’t erase her facial expressions that are etched deeply into my memory or the place that she holds in my heart. She’s my sister, 17 years after her death doesn’t change that. She will alwaysbe my parent’s beloved daughter. Seventeen years smooth away the rough edges of the pain and initial loss, but 17 years doesn’t change the raw grief that never goes away. Grief doesn’t work like that. Losing a loved one is a wound that may heal, but the scarring goes deep. The mark that the loss of a loved one leaves changes the course of a life.
When Michelle died was when I first remember having a reaction/response to God. Anger. That was also when heaven first became real to me.
Even though I still don’t understand WHY, I have come to understand more about God and His faithfulness, His unconditional love, and His promise of eternal life. God’s truth is the only thing that kept my family together in the years following her death. He remains our Healer to this day.
My family rejoices in Michelle’s victory in Christ, knowing she’s home with her Heavenly Father. I have complete faith that my family will be whole again, reunited in the heavenly realm with our Creator one day.
But until then, my family continues to mourn her absence… the mischievous look in her eye and the easy grin that spread across her face. We still ache for her presence in our daily life, 17 years later. In our kitchen cupboard, there’s still a plate at the bottom of the stack that was often used at her place at the dinner table. There’s a chest in my bedroom filled with Michelle’s belongings, the beloved trinkets and sentimental objects of a nine year old, laced with memories. Our keepsakes of her precious time with us. One of her favorite childhood books, Goodnight Moon, still has its place among the children books that will be passed down to Dani and I’s children – as well as her copy of, I’ll Love You Forever; each of us daughters have one. Her stuffed animal, a tanned chocolate dog with a spot, named Brownie is laid out on the bed in the spare bedroom, my mom’s office… Michelle used to trail it around the red carpet of our living room with a leash, made out of the belt loop of her aqua green fuzzy bathrobe. There’s her plaid reversible coat hanging in a closet, one of three matching ones. My sisters and I had multiple matching outfits growing up, many of them sewed by the loving hands of our mother. We were the three little toe-head blondes, the Staeb girls. And there’s a red maple leaf tree growing in a corner of one of our front pastures, planted by the family as a memorial, marking the time that passes since she left us to be with the Lord.
There’s a glimpse of her in each day, the smallest and most seemingly insignificant things or circumstances will trigger memories from a time before… A quilt made by my grandmother, attending a rodeo with the clowns who taunt and tease the bulls away from the riders, seeing a family with three daughters, children puddle-ducking in a pond, a child’s tea party, Dissney Yahtzee, a playground swing, Ronald McDonald, the mention of Make-A-Wish Foundation, a stroll through a hospital hallway. There’s a variety of foods that all have very specific memories of Michelle attached to them – fresh raspberries, apple juice, chicken strips with french fries and/or tator tots, a grape slushy, frozen yogurt, and more. I love all of my memories from when Michelle was alive, the good and the bad. From diagnosis to death, I have very distinct memories during those two years in my family’s life. Those memories are the most clear out of any in my childhood. I am so thankful to have so many memories of my sister. I could write many pages of cherished moments with Michelle.
… In the days following my sister’s death, I remember my Uncle Rick looking out the dining room window into our backyard, tears streaming down his face, a tissue in his hand, as our family made calls letting people know that Michelle had died. I remember handing out candy to my childhood friend, Tayler, at my sister’s viewing. I remember sitting in the pew with my family, the church full of people. I remember singing, ‘Lord I Lift Your Name on High’ at her funeral.
Memories are a beautiful gift, albeit painful, and 17 years doesn’t take away the significance of my sister’s death, or more importantly, her life.
Immediately after Michelle’s death, there was attentive sympathy and support for my family. We were embraced by our small town community, lifted up among the fellowship of believers, cared for and loved for in a variety ways by those who knew Michelle, family and friends.
After 17 years, and the freshness of death’s sting has faded there’s not as many people reaching out to my family on the hard days, specifically dated or otherwise. But when someone does remember Michelle, it means the world to us. She’s not forgotten, her impact still remains. She is still loved, and dearly missed. There is a woman, the mother of my god daughter, who never met Michelle. She and her family came into our lives almost five years after Michelle died. But to this day, she remembers our family in her thoughts, prayers, and actions. She’ll send flowers, an email, or call on Michelle’s birthday. She remembers, she doesn’t forget that the hurt doesn’t ever go away, you just learn how to live through it.
There was a time when I told people that I only had one sister, Dani. I wasn’t willing to invite people into the most intimate part of my past, the most precious, prized, and painful time in my life. I didn’t want to hear the, “I’m so sorry”; I didn’t want to see looks of pity, or sympathy in people’s eyes who would never have the blessing of meeting Michelle. But over time it would surface, because when I talk about my childhood, there’s always five people included in my memories – my parents, my two sisters, and me…. My perspective has since changed. The only way they will ever know Michelle, or even begin to understand the importance of her life, is if I share my treasured memories.
Reminiscing Michelle’s life, the vibrant essence of her as a person, even as a little girl, honoring her life and death by sharing the importance of her place in my life, and the impact that she continues to have in the life of me and my family..that is how I wish to honor her life today, August 6th, 2014.
My World Race A-squad spiritual family loves each other outrageously well. Today, my team helped me celebrate Michelle’s life. They created time and space for me to share stories and memories. By listening prayer, they wrote encouraging notes and drew pictures for my family to show support. They, and members of my squad have lifted up my family in their thoughts and prayers all day today.
For dinner, our team went to KFC, the closest available restaurant where I could get chicken strips and french fries/tater tots – or something similar – Michelle’s favorite meal. Then they pulled eight balloons out of a bag, each one with a letter spelling out my sister’s name. I began crying and had to turn away, I was so deeply touched by their efforts to love me and my family well on the anniversary of Michelle’s death. After writing hopes/wishes/prayers for Michelle and our family on the balloons, we walked to a nearby bridge and released them over a Malaysian river. We prayed for my family. I felt beyond blessed by the love God showed my family and I through the words/actions of people who never even knew Michelle.
CELEBRATE LIFE. Each moment, each day, each month, each year is a gift from God.
If you know someone who has lost a loved one… Remember them, reach out to them. Don’t forget. Because I can promise you that they don’t…If you yourself have lost someone dear to you, take a moment to remember. Allow yourself to grieve, and allow others close to you to surround you in support and embrace you in comfort. Share your memories, they’re gifts to be treasured.
