A story from my childhood

This one is tough to write.

I was 5.

We all remember little snippets from we were that age.

I assume that most of them are happy and fun.

Most of mine are, except the one that isn’t.

The one I’ve chosen to share.

My sister Lisa died in 1986, shortly after she got married.

She was 18.

Mom, 2 of my other sisters and 5 year old me with Lisa just a month before she died. I *think* this was the last time I saw her alive.

It was just a few months before I turned 6.

I clearly remember walking into the funeral home.

We went through a door to the left side of the back wall.

It led us down a hallway.

There was a door to the left.

We went in.

Her casket was on the left back wall.

She was wearing purple.

It was her favorite dress.

I still love to wear purple. It makes me feel happy.

I remember screaming in prayer many nights for God to bring her back and take me or bring her back and I’d never disobey.

Anything.

Just bring her back.