A Letter to My Sister

43 years ago today, my life changed in an instant. A fire raged through our home. I was four years-old.

I was reminiscing with my older sister on the phone last night about this. We do this every year. She saved my life. I always call her on this day and tell her the following.

“I woke up this morning in my own bed in my own house. Next to me was my wife. Our dog was curled up with his head under my hand as if he was hoping I’d pet him in his sleep. My beautiful children slept soundly in their beds. My back hurts a bit. It usually does. When you threw me from the second floor, well, we know the damage that did to my spine. But I wouldn’t change a thing. Thank you, Susan.”

And she always laments that she couldn’t save everyone. “Why couldn’t I find them?” she asks. It’s been 43 years. We know the answer. A true fire is black. We couldn’t see for the smoke had filled every cubic inch of space.

But a better answer might be this.

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the Lord!

He wanted you and me and the siblings you did save and Mom and Dad here on this earth. And the three He called home? He wanted them there.

Never forget that I love you, my wife thanks you, our children thank you. You are my hero and I’m glad you were there that night because otherwise I wouldn’t be here today.