Six Long Months

Today is the six-month anniversary of my niece’s death. The way Karis was taken from us was cruel – fine one minute, gone the next. The only thing that happened in that minute was a cough. She was perfectly healthy, perfectly beautiful, perfectly spunky...

She would have turned eight years old this Tuesday and we would have had another shared birthday dinner. My birthday is the day before hers so we had a lot of fun birthdays together. Well, not a LOT… to be exact, only seven.

My favorite birthday with Karis was at a Mexican restaurant here in Roanoke. Besides the embarrassment of singing and clapping, there was also the joyful experience of waiters stuffing your mouth full of whipped-creamy cake and then taking what wouldn’t fit in your jaws and rubbing it in your hair. (You have to sign a release for this kinda fun, and a goofy sister is just the person to assume liability for such fun.)

You could hear the singing begin in the kitchen and come wandering through the restaurant in search of the birthday celebrant/victim. I knew what was coming, so I pulled Karis onto my lap. All she knew is that WE were the birthday girls and that something FUN was coming for US, so she began looking around and waving her hands so as to guide the sleuthing waiters our way. And then came the FUN – mouths filled with dessert, faces smeared with cake, hair capped with whipped cream… and it WAS fun. It was one of the most wonderful memories of my life, and it’s a memory that will haunt me every August from now on.

This year I celebrate my birthday by myself and Karis celebrates hers in Heaven. Monica will endure the day somehow, although I can’t fathom how she’ll do it. I can’t fathom how she’s endured ANY of the days since Karis died. I’ve been able to spend days with her here and there, and Karis’ absence in the house is still palpable. It breaks my heart. I can’t imagine how it shatters the heart of her mother, my little sister.

Parents aren’t supposed to bury their children, especially the little ones. Parents are supposed to watch them grow up, attend dance recitals and ball games, monitor permanent teeth (and plan for braces), walk them through the experience of a first love, help pick up the pieces of their first broken heart, teach them to drive a car, move them out of our house so they can begin their life apart from us… and then when WE are old and gray, they are supposed to bury US. THAT’S the plan, not the other way around.

But life doesn’t always go according to what we plan. It goes according to what God in His sovereignty allows. Sometimes He allows wonderful blessings and adventures, and sometimes He allows heartache and difficulty. One of the most profound life lessons can be found in the book of Job. After losing his wealth and children and finally his health, Job’s wife complains that he should curse God and die. Job’s response is one that has rung in my ears for the past six months: “Should we accept only good things from the hand of God and never anything bad?" (Job 2:10, NLT)

We are learning to accept this bad thing but it isn’t easy, especially in this year of ‘firsts’. Our hearts ache, and will ache for a long time. We will heal, but we’ll always have a tender spot in our hearts for a spunky little seven-year-old who laughed and danced and lived every day to its fullest. And who left us way too early.

Happy Birthday, Krazy K --

Aunt Susan misses you :)