Today marks another year since our little sister, Cathy, was brutally taken from us. This past couple of weeks, on my run, the Pandora channel I listen to kept repeating We Are the Champions. Every time it played, I could see her shouting it out at the top of her lungs next to me.
And then my sister Julie sent me a photo of Cathy, me, and Susan, together in some unknown location. I don’t remember the place, but seeing her face made me smile. She’d have plenty to say about this COVID situation and more than likely a stern lecture (with some choice language) for those who go about selfishly, paying no attention to social distancing.
I saw a movie the other night. There were three sisters and one had been missing, presumed dead, for several days. The younger sister kept calling her missing sister’s phone just to hear her voice message. It was a comfort. I did that too, for a long time. But now, Cathy’s voice is gone from that number and it simply says that the voice mail box is full and cannot accept any more messages. Maybe I’m not the only one.
I miss her. She had a way of saying things flat out, no beating around any bushes. Her heart for others, compassion for those in need, and her staunch defense of the underdog is probably driving God nuts.