picking up the pieces and saying goodbye to my sister, Kathy. I wrote a letter to my sister's killer a few months after her death, and she'd have turned 41 later this month. Most events we mark by time are ones we'd like to remember, but I'd just as soon forget Kathy's death. Her youngest son's birthday falls on the date of her passing. This year, Easter falls on the date of her passing. Since we mark the events we celebrate by time, we can't escape it's grip when it comes to those events we'd rather forget. Time just doesn't let go.
Kathy didn't bear the weight of my sins or your sins; no, she had plenty to deal with on her own. Time didn't allow her to escape the pain, until time finally stopped for her. I'm not ashamed to say that I'm very relieved that time finally stopped for her. I'm not relieved for her children, our parents, my brother, myself, or her other family and friends. I'm relieved for Kathy. She didn't deserve any more or less than the rest of us, but she was granted peace from all that haunted her. Yes, I'm relieved, and thankful.
A day will come, perhaps sooner, perhaps later, that we all will be granted peace from that which haunts us. I look toward the cross as my daily reminder that there is reason indeed to celebrate death. Because, after all, only through death comes life.