1976, The Brumbaugh Family. Lois is third from left in the back, I’m in front.

A month ago I came across the words I said at my sister Lois’s memorial service. As I remember her life this year on the month of the anniversary of her passing, I wish to share with you what I said that day.

I still feel this way even after all the intervening years. My family was devastated due to the nature of Lois’s death. Our grief was intense, our shock, immense. I wept while I wrote these words as we traveled to Oregon to say our final goodbye to my sister. My heart lay shattered in a million pieces.

* * *

Verbatim, My Words On that Day.

1993, Memorial Service for Lois Brumbaugh

“I’m Norma, a sister of Lois. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Lois, so I want to share what I feel at this time.

Lois–

You were my friend in the days of dolls and dress-up. Always my little sister and biggest fan. As children, we worked and played together. I was often impressed with how you did things. You always did them well–and with a sincere heart.

I remember the days of piano lessons and singing with my sisters. You had such a beautiful gift with the piano. My love for you was clear. You were always my special little sister.

From my five year vantage point…I felt with you as you went through the experiences of growing up into adulthood. I saw so much in you that was exceptional and good. I’ve been so proud of you and your accomplishments. You achieved, you persevered, you always made friends. You forced yourself beyond intense shyness.

You also struggled. There were some difficult years for our family, when we all dealt with troubling issues. I was aware that you felt these things deeply. It wasn’t easy for you, but you just tried all the harder.

Lois, I want to remember many things about you that I admired. You had real class. You were pretty, kind, witty, smart, compassionate, musical, fun, and great with you nieces and nephews. You were a beautiful person.

Many times you lifted me up with encouraging words and cheery cards. You made me feel that I was important and had something to contribute. How I loved you and still love you.

On this day I just want to say that I wish I could have shared your pain.

I recall our Grandpa Brumbaugh saying that rarely do we hear a sermon about “hope.” It seems to be forgotten. He was right. We need hope. Love and faith are complete when hope is present.

So, Lois– this is my attempt at saying goodbye. My sorrow is great. But I know your presence will be with me and all of us always. We will miss you more than you can know.

I’m looking forward to some bright morning when it is my hope and belief that we will embrace once again in God’s perfect land, and I just can’t wait.

Your loving sister, always,

Norma”

* * *

Then this from the past.

This morning I was reading a manuscript I wrote in 2014 (but never published) from my visits to the Vina Monastery, when I came across a passage regarding the loss of my sister, Lois. It was written in September. At the time, I was remembering and grieving her loss like I always do in September.

At the time of the writing, I was sitting in a tiny chapel and praying. I had just walked past a statue of the Shepherd Boy, David that was erected in memory of a CSUC student who had died from suicide in 1986. The statue was donated by the family in his memory. As always, I felt his family’s pain.

As I was reading this a couple hours ago, tears came to my eyes. I saw Lois again in my mind’s eye. Her graciousness and beauty spoke once again. I hope her life speaks to you.

Gone but not forgotten.

This comes at the end of a lengthy prayer session while contemplating in the silence, as the Spirit whispers to my spirit.

“Your sister, Lois, you always sorrow for her this time of year.”

I do. I miss her. I will always miss her.

“She taught you the meaning of love. She loved well. It hurt her in the end. You can’t have love without me. I was calling her, but she wasn’t listening. She never knew my joy. I wanted her to know my peace and joy. It came too late for her. Lois was a special flower. Vibrant. Beautiful. Lovely. She had a genuine quality about her. She didn’t want to be fake. I used her to touch people. I will still use her through your pen. She will sing again.”

Thank you, dear Jesus. Amen

September, 2014