Photo and Commentary ©2024 by Shelley Schurch
Sunday, June 30, 2024
This framed needlepoint is about the size of my two hands placed side by side. My sister Julie created this with her two hands as a surprise gift for my husband when he was ordained to the gospel ministry almost 38 years ago. Whenever we’ve moved to a new home, we’ve hung this near his study door, where we see it many times a day.
I’m writing this on Saturday night, June 29. My sister passed away this morning in a hospital in Hamilton, Ontario.
How do I honor her?
May I tell you a few stories about her?
She was honored as valedictorian of her high school class. Barely 5’1” in cap and gown, she marched with the salutatorian, who was the tallest girl in their class, probably close to 6’. I remember how the difference in heights was amazing to me, an eight-year-old, impressed with all the pomp and circumstance.
I remember how anxious she was at home that day about her upcoming speech, and how proud I was when she successfully delivered it without getting sick, which had been a concern of my mother.
Her first year in college she met a fifth-year senior and married him that summer. She asked me to be her junior bridesmaid, and the wedding photos show me grinning with happiness at the honor.
My father was not so happy that his gifted firstborn had dropped out of college after her freshman year. That was not part of his plan for her. However, he became the very proud grandpa of her three children. While they were still quite young, she completed her college degree.
Fifteen years ago my sister and her husband celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in their home church, located in British Columbia. My husband and I conspired with their three children to make the trip to surprise them.
I will always remember the look of astonishment and then delight on my sister’s face as she saw us enter the fellowship hall. She paused, seemed to swallow hard, then rushed across the room to greet us. Every mile of the trip was worth it to see her happiness, and join in the celebration to honor them.
Love can be handmade, like Julie’s needlepoint gift to my husband. Those of us not as skilled in handiwork need not despair; love just needs to be heartmade.
So with my love I honor my sister by telling you a few of the many stories that have welled up today, like the tears that have welled up in my eyes. People die; our love for them doesn’t.
Remembering and sharing the stories, and looking forward to Resurrection Day, both help with the grief of the present. Thank you for honoring me, and my sister, by reading this post.
Sleep in peace, my sister. See you when the trumpet sounds.