My sister, Bonnie Rae, and I were born in 1941 and 1943, respectively. We endured chicken pox, cod-liver oil, and having our tonsils removed—together. Mother sewed us plaid, white-collared dresses with puff sleeves. She platted our hair or clipped it with beribboned bobby pins.
When Bonnie entered first grade, I turned a clock’s hands forward because I thought it would speed her return home. I was a tag-along and a pest.
One day she told me to climb inside an abandoned truck tire. I did, and she rolled me down a hill. When she said a hobo living in the miners’ bathhouse was a boogey-man, I believed her. As young teens, when she walked down our church isle during revival, I followed.
In a school musical, she was cast as a southern belle. I had to black my face and ‘pick’ cotton. She played clarinet. I attempted trombone. She liked to sweep and dust. I baked cornbread and pastries. She favored one aunt, I another. Yet we double-dated, shared prom formals and a wedding dress.
At thirty-eight, Bonnie chose scriptures and hymns for her funeral, gave me her string of pearls. She died of bone cancer. I miss her; wish I could be her shadow still.
I am thankful for the promise of eternal life. One day, when I see her again, we will laugh and dance along the hillsides of heaven.
Who has touched your life with joy?
Give thanks to the good Lord for them.
This page is dedicated to my inspirations and those who have enriched my life along the way.