8/19/2022

Dear Becky,

            Today is a gloomy day.  We have had rain.  Lots of it…more than we’ve had all summer.  Thunderclaps so loud last night you’d think it hit the house directly.  Today rain and more rain. It will be the same for days they say.  Poor Gumbo has been so nervous and is clinging very close to us.  Her actions reminded me of our commiserating with each other about our dogs and their fears.

            I have not shed a tear, not had a knee-bending, breath-taking cry since the day before your funeral. Not even a quiet eye-watering, tear slowly running down my cheek sniffle.  Oh, I cried for Lynea on Friday the twelfth (so thankful it wasn’t Friday the thirteenth) and that night I went to the ground when my knees buckled wondering how I was going to be able to make it through another funeral the next day.

            I didn’t cry Saturday at Emmanuel. I laughed with others at stories about you. I told stories to others.  I even laughed when someone told me on the phone that she taught with you for several years.  She said, in one of those deep southern accents, “Nippy, I didn’t love your sister, but I did like her an awful lot.”

            There were so many people sending messages, I had to silence my phone.  So many people giving hugs and praising you for your excellent teaching skills.  It was a joyous day celebrating the “you” of you. I didn’t cry when others did…when their voices broke remembering how you made a difference to them.

            Saturday morning, I’m not sure if anyone noticed, but I picked up your box of ashes before people arrived and held you next to my heart…almost laughing that maybe I was stirring the ashes as I moved them, stirring my troubles away.  I wanted to open the box and set you free, but I didn’t. Instead, I placed the box, carefully, on the table in the middle of all your pictures and lingered my hand on the top, quietly petting it and talked quietly to you.  It was a moment between just me and you as brother and sister.  I told you how unfair I felt about the way you had to leave us.  How unfair it was that I was the only sibling left…even though I knew that Bobby was still here.  I won’t go into the details why we left him out, but I know you understood.  There were so many “what-ifs” that day.  I didn’t cry then.  I just smiled and enjoyed the moment with all our friends.

            When we got home, I took one of your pictures and placed it on the table next to my computer.  I have looked at it daily and not shed a tear, just smiled my biggest smile right back at’cha. 

            Last night I listened for a late text in the middle of the night so I could say, “OH, Becky!  Do you know what time it is?  I’m trying to sleep, for goodness sake.”  I didn’t cry then. 

But today!  Maybe it’s because of the gloom of the day or my taking Frances to a doctor appointment with her walker and getting soaking wet even with Garry’s weathered yellow raincoat. I cried.  So many memories have surfaced that I want to pick up the phone and share them with you.  Yesterday was our forty-ninth anniversary and I didn’t get a call from you or a silly cartoon that you sent. It hit me hard today that I had not heard from you.

I know we didn’t communicate every day, not even every week, but we knew each was there and could parlay whenever we desired. 

My tears are not helping me type and I have had to stop and blow my nose or wipe a tear away.  The trash can is filling up with tissues.  I love you dear sister.  We’ll be fine down here. I’ve been through this before with Jane and mama and daddy.  Heather made it safely home.  LOVE, Nippy

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