G is, and always will be, for Gayla

Gayla's adventure in Mexico just two
weeks before she was gone. I always find it
ironic that I worried for her safety there, and she
was at home heading for a pedicure when we lost her.

I dream of Gayla at least once a week now. Sometimes we are back in college as roommates; mostly she has a cameo at the end of whatever drama my brain is working through. No matter the dream, I beeline for sister and tackle her in a hug, much like I did when she would come home from school when we were little girls, sharing a bedroom on Ellen.

It has been a little more than two years since that distracted truck driver took Gayla from us. I genuflect and thank God she did not suffer. Then I shake my fist and scream in agony, "WHY!?!"



Sister on the night of her
20th High School Reunion

Grief is bipolar like that. In the same instant that I am thankful for all He provides, I will stomp my
feet and feel the surge of CRAZY that wants to escape and pummel all that played a part in my beloved sister's demise. If it weren't for my 'Rents, Hubby Dearest, and Darling Daughter (and the 70 kiddos who expect me to teach them each day), I would allow this grief to suck me in. However, Gayla would be angry at that so I soldier on. I occasionally let the crazy hang out for a minute or two and pretend Sister's stay in witness protection will end soon and life will be good again.




February 1975, one of our first pictures together



February 2011, our last picture together