I sit at my kitchen breakfast nook. It is the morning following my eldest sister’s death. I have been over to my little brother’s house to break the news to him. He says he’ll be okay, but I know that with him, it will be a delayed reaction. Today is also the 13th anniversary of my eldest brother’s death.
I have no energy, but I need comfort food, so I make biscuits and sausage gravy. Even with an extra dose of Tabasco sauce, I can scarcely taste it. I had just talked to Carole on Monday and had been alarmed at the new course her dementia had taken. Her mind was going, but I thought her body was stronger. It wasn’t.
So, I eat my breakfast and as I gaze out the window, the winter blue sky is streaked with high cirrus clouds. A light breeze is rocking the bare stems of the rose bush. And then, something catches my eye – a spark of iridescence. It is a single strand of spider silk stretching from the house siding to the trellis – a span of nearly eighteen inches. The breeze is tugging at it, pulling it for a brief instant into the sunlight where it shimmers and sparks. It’s almost the middle of December, and although it has been a mild month, the spiders are long gone. Yet that single strand of gossamer remains – incredibly delicate and seemingly fragile, but strong enough to have survived the 40 miles per hour winds we had last week.
My sister is gone, like the spiders of summer. Her faith was strong, and as my Pastor reminds me, “absent from the body, present with the Lord.” So like the spiders that will return with the Spring, I will see her again. Yet for now, she is gone. Still, there is this gossamer thread. Invisible for the most part, but shining gold when sunlit. So very delicate, but also tremendously strong – the iridescent strand of memory and love.
Kathy Kexel 