I Am Thankful

My sister (L) and I "Playing Wedding"

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.