General Discussion Board

I don't consider myself religious, but...

Posted By: Mike <miguelit@pacbell.net> (206.170.121.191)
Date: Saturday, 25 March 2000, at 3:16 p.m.

In Response To: God is cool ;-) (Jane)

Here's my "God is cool :)" story.

When I was 13, I recall that my older sister had gotten into a major fight with her best friend. Since kindergarten, they'd been so close that one would call the other each morning and discuss what they'd wear to school that day so they could be "twins." But for a good two weeks, they hadn't been on speaking terms.

The night of November 2, 1975 (of COURSE I remember the date!) Kathy got a call from this friend, who was clearly distraught about the whole ugly mess. She agreed to meet her. My dad expressed concern that maybe she shouldn't be going out too late on a school night. Kathy replied simply, "But dad, she's crying. I've got to go." Those were the last words she said to us.

Apparently, they went for a walk. A long walk that took them onto a country road at least five miles from our house. As they were strolling, talking and renewing their friendship. Later, the autopsy would show that the car that struck and killed both of them was doing 65 -- in a 25 zone. I'd be willing to bet the driver was drunk, but this happened in the days before breathalyzers, so I suppose I'll never know for sure.

We did our best to adjust, but we knew our first Christmas without her would be rough. After Christmas dinner, a couple came to visit -- friends of my parents. They owned a statue that my mom had always admired and wished she had as a centerpiece for her dining room table. It was a bronze figure, painted in green enamel, of a girl doing a pirouette on one foot with her arms outstretched. It reminded my mom of Kathy -- not so much for any of its physical characteristics as for the happy, mischievous spirit it seemed to radiate. After Kathy's death, that statue reminded my mom of her more than ever. She never asked for the statue, of course, because it was clearly an heirloom. In fact, she tried not to even look at or think about the statue when she visited this couple. Entirely on their own, these people presented it to my mother as a Christmas gift, saying "It reminded us so much of Kathy that we decided you had to have it." She cried all night.

Now the statue was proof enough and then some for my mom that Kathy was in heaven. But it was too subtle for my dad. He decided he wanted a sign, too. But he wanted something that would hit him right betwee the eyes.

A couple of weeks later, my parents picked up a roll of film from a drugstore. The pictures had been taken right before she was killed, and naturally enough, we'd forgotten about them until the drugstore called. One of them proved to be a double exposure. Kathy and her friend were sitting together in church. Superimposed on that image was a statue of Jesus, placed so that my sister and her friend were exactly in the palm of the statue's hand. My dad was convinced.

Now, one of my sister's favorite childhood games was something of her own invention called "Make-believe." When she was playing it, the rest of us were forbidden to enter the living room. My brothers and I spied enough to determine that it seemed to consist of her playing a favorite record while she walked in circles for an hour or so. Three years after her death, Chris, my older brother, brought Dooley the Dog home for the first time. As soon as she was in the house, Dooley made a beeline for the living room and yes, started trotting around in circles. It was like having a little bit of Kathy with us again.

But wait. There's more. Now's a good a time as any to admit that I don't have a college degree. You see, I majored in Partying, which Illinois State University has yet to award a single bachelor's. I spent most of my time smoking pot, drinking beer, chasing girls, playing Dungeons and Dragons, and cutting classes. In those days, I dreamt occasionally that Kathy was still alive and had somehow found her way home. But something was always wrong. In those dreams, she speak to me only if spoken to, and she seemed generally sort of stand-offish. It was as though she disapproved of the way I was wasting my life.

When I got to the point where I wasn't even fooling myself anymore, I joined the Navy, somehow survived boot camp and journalism school, and got assigned to my first ship. One night half a world away from home, I dreamt of her again. As before, she'd found her way home and we were all sitting around the dining room table. This time, though, it was the same Kathy I'd always known in life -- with the offbeat, teasing sense of humor that seems to have been her defining characteristic. I think she was telling me I was on the right track.

That was 12 years ago. I haven't dreamt about her since.

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