My Mom's tribute to her sister
Thank you to those who have been praying for our family through this unexpected event. Mom wrote this earlier this week at the death of her sister, Cathy Spivey:
The cross-stitching in my sister’s guest bathroom says, “Some people make the world brighter just by being in it.”
Today the world isn’t as bright as it was.
My big sister’s gone.
Sissie — “Cathy” to everyone else — was four years older than me, so this is my first day to be alive without her. From the time I was born, she looked out for me.
Some (my husband, in particular) might even say spoiled me. I called it “sistering.” Here’s just one example.
When I was a little girl, I had this thing I always did at church on Sunday nights. Now you have to remember this was in the old days, back when they had everybody who hadn’t had a chance to take the communion on Sunday morning stand up and then they would just serve it to them there in the auditorium. Well, I used to always count the number of people who stood up. Don’t ask me why; it was just a big deal to me. (As you can tell, I led a pretty exciting life.)
One night, though, I remember I was sick and didn’t get to go to services; Mother stayed home with me. When Sissie and Daddy got in that night, Sissie came in the bedroom where I was and she said, “There were six.”
I guess I had a blank look on my face because I asked, “What?”
And she said, “There were six people who stood up and took communion tonight.”
Doubtless there many things I did that my sister thought were pretty dumb and this had to be one of them, but because it was important to me, it became important to her.
So she counted the people for me.
That’s the kind of sister she was.
We shared a tiny bedroom growing up (that, and the greatest parents in the world).
I’ve told her boys the worst thing I can ever remember her doing was when we were both still little and spent the night with our Aunt Louise.
Sissie got homesick and wanted to call our parents, but because I was the youngest we had to pretend it was me. Many nights we laid awake in bed planning our lives, but mostly our weddings. Soon, much too soon to my liking, she went off to college and found her Prince Charming (known in most circles as Dewayne).
He took her away from me — to places like Africa and then Wisconsin, but I came to realize that closeness has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with zip codes.
I look at my life and am amazed at how I’ve followed in her footsteps in so many ways – marrying a prince I too met in college, mission work, four children.
I wanted to be like her. I still do.
She was a fantastic mother. If you don’t believe me, you should have seen her boys in the hospital this week and heard their prayers. Four godly men, the sweet women they brought home to be not her in-laws, but her daughters and four precious little granddaugthers. What a legacy she leaves.
Dewayne’s brother Keith told Mrs. Spivey this week that when he thinks of my sister
the first thing that comes to mind is the virtuous woman in the Bible.
He’s right. Last year I spent two quarters teaching Proverbs 31 to our Wednesday night ladies’ class.
I could have saved myself six months and just brought my sister.
She was so many wonderful things.
What a cook! Three-fourths of the best recipes I have came from her (though neither of us ever quite managed to duplicate our mama’s dressing).
Like I whispered in her ear in my goodbye, there just aren’t words for what she’s meant to me. And I’m the one who’s supposed to have the way with words.
I’m enough of a snob I guess that I don’t usually find country music appropriate for serious events like weddings or funerals or eulogies.
But Alan Jackson’s latest single (ironically called “Sissy’s Song”) could have been written for MY sissie.
She flew up to heaven on the wings of angels
by the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees
and she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting (Daddy!)
and I know she’s smiling, saying,
Don’t worry ’bout me.
The cross-stitching in my sister’s guest bathroom says, “Some people make the world brighter just by being in it.”
Today the world isn’t as bright as it was.
My big sister’s gone.
Sissie — “Cathy” to everyone else — was four years older than me, so this is my first day to be alive without her. From the time I was born, she looked out for me.
Some (my husband, in particular) might even say spoiled me. I called it “sistering.” Here’s just one example.
When I was a little girl, I had this thing I always did at church on Sunday nights. Now you have to remember this was in the old days, back when they had everybody who hadn’t had a chance to take the communion on Sunday morning stand up and then they would just serve it to them there in the auditorium. Well, I used to always count the number of people who stood up. Don’t ask me why; it was just a big deal to me. (As you can tell, I led a pretty exciting life.)
One night, though, I remember I was sick and didn’t get to go to services; Mother stayed home with me. When Sissie and Daddy got in that night, Sissie came in the bedroom where I was and she said, “There were six.”
I guess I had a blank look on my face because I asked, “What?”
And she said, “There were six people who stood up and took communion tonight.”
Doubtless there many things I did that my sister thought were pretty dumb and this had to be one of them, but because it was important to me, it became important to her.
So she counted the people for me.
That’s the kind of sister she was.
We shared a tiny bedroom growing up (that, and the greatest parents in the world).
I’ve told her boys the worst thing I can ever remember her doing was when we were both still little and spent the night with our Aunt Louise.
Sissie got homesick and wanted to call our parents, but because I was the youngest we had to pretend it was me. Many nights we laid awake in bed planning our lives, but mostly our weddings. Soon, much too soon to my liking, she went off to college and found her Prince Charming (known in most circles as Dewayne).
He took her away from me — to places like Africa and then Wisconsin, but I came to realize that closeness has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with zip codes.
I look at my life and am amazed at how I’ve followed in her footsteps in so many ways – marrying a prince I too met in college, mission work, four children.
I wanted to be like her. I still do.
She was a fantastic mother. If you don’t believe me, you should have seen her boys in the hospital this week and heard their prayers. Four godly men, the sweet women they brought home to be not her in-laws, but her daughters and four precious little granddaugthers. What a legacy she leaves.
Dewayne’s brother Keith told Mrs. Spivey this week that when he thinks of my sister
the first thing that comes to mind is the virtuous woman in the Bible.
He’s right. Last year I spent two quarters teaching Proverbs 31 to our Wednesday night ladies’ class.
I could have saved myself six months and just brought my sister.
She was so many wonderful things.
What a cook! Three-fourths of the best recipes I have came from her (though neither of us ever quite managed to duplicate our mama’s dressing).
Like I whispered in her ear in my goodbye, there just aren’t words for what she’s meant to me. And I’m the one who’s supposed to have the way with words.
I’m enough of a snob I guess that I don’t usually find country music appropriate for serious events like weddings or funerals or eulogies.
But Alan Jackson’s latest single (ironically called “Sissy’s Song”) could have been written for MY sissie.
She flew up to heaven on the wings of angels
by the clouds and stars and passed where no one sees
and she walks with Jesus and her loved ones waiting (Daddy!)
and I know she’s smiling, saying,
Don’t worry ’bout me.
posted by Adam at 10:29 AM
1 comments
