It has been four years.

Four years ago a dear friend of mine was killed, and since I was living so far away, I could not attend the funeral service. Instead, I wrote what I called a "Tribute" to Katherine. Now it has been four years since her death, so I wanted to post the tribute again to remember my friend Katherine. Missing her a lot tonight, but confident that there will be day I will see her again in the most awesome place, and it will be there that we will rejoice because Jesus overcame the grave for us! Read on...

My sister, Katherine

It is with the heaviest of hearts that I write tonight. I do not want to do this, and wish with all of my being that this were a nice note written to a dear friend instead of what it actually is, a tribute to my sister, Katherine. I hesitated to title this piece My Sister, Katherine because I know readers may be confused, as I was not Katherine’s biological sister. In the end, I decided to leave the title as I felt led, because Katherine and I had a bond that is stronger than a worldly friendship. Katherine was my sister in Christ, and will be throughout all of eternity.
On Saturday I listened in disbelief as my friend relayed the tragic news to me. I managed to make it through a Halloween party and church services, as well as card night at my house on Sunday night. Those days it wasn’t real yet. Today it became real, as I opened my email and clicked on the website that Mr. Kyes sent to me, and the first thing I saw was the porcelain face of my sister, Katherine. The red curls that fell perfectly around her face, the smile that was contagious to anyone who had the privilege of being around her. All of a sudden, when I saw that face, it became real. My sister had gone to be with our Father, under the worst possible circumstances imaginable, my sister Katherine was gone.
I spent the day in a daze, asking God to give me the strength that only He can provide in order to teach my kids something of Spanish today. Then when I got to Cross Country practice, my role as a coach seemed to be too difficult, and the memories flooded my mind of my dear sister Katherine. It was this very sport that first drew Katherine and me together. When we waited outside every afternoon for Mr. Moran to pick us up in his black truck and drive us over to Park High School so we could run with the high school Cross Country team. As I ran with my team today, the only thing on my mind was my sister Katherine, and all the things she was to me in the short years I knew her.
I somehow held it together for the rest of practice, but when I finally had a second alone, the tears came and did not stop. Even now, my eyes are red and puffy, but I am not ashamed or embarrassed because I am mourning my sister Katherine. I would have red puffy eyes every day for the rest of my life if it meant I got to listen to Katherine laugh again. Her laugh was contagious. You could not enter a room with Katherine in it and not join in her happiness.
When I first heard the news, I felt I needed to open my photo albums to remember Katherine, but today when the tears began to stream down my cheeks, I could not hold back the memories of my sister Katherine. My thoughts turned to Cross Country again, where Katherine was a dedicated athlete and encourager. Even after her season was over, she still came to practices and meets to cheer us on to victory. I hardly have a memory of our team that does not include Katherine in it, whether it was back massages before the race, or braiding my hair on the bus ride to Schaar’s Bluff on Tuesday afternoons. My sister Katherine was a servant, and never once complained about tying my unruly hair back into braids for me. That was Katherine.
One of the pictures I have of my sister Katherine made me smile when I saw it the other night. It is my friend Katherine, perfect auburn curls framing her porcelain face, legs in a stretching position, back perfectly straight, and torso leaned over to get the most efficient stretch possible. The picture was taken at Schaar’s Bluff, where our team made it to state, and there was Katherine, in her jeans and old Cross Country sweatshirt, stretching, even though she had not competed that day. No, she had driven to the meet just to watch the rest of us run. A meet would not have been complete without Katherine there, stretching as she did, and cheering for us as if our success depended on it. That was Katherine.
Speaking of stretching, I will never forget the time during one of our first Cross Country skiing seasons when we stretched in the hallway by the large Native American circle imprinted on the floor. Katherine sat there, back perfectly straight, legs out, nose practically touching her knees, stretching for what seemed like forever. I remember asking her, “Katherine, why do you hold the stretch so long?” and she responded, “Because it doesn’t actually start stretching until 30 seconds into it.” And on she stretched. I think of Katherine often when I stretch before a run these days and try to hold it as long as I can, but I still think Katherine could hold it longer.
In the email Reverend Olson sent out to his church members, he mentioned that there would be an abundance of music played at Katherine’s funeral. (Even as I type the words Katherine’s and funeral, my hands tremble and my mind cannot fathom it.) I do not think a church building could hold all the music that deserves to be played for Katherine. Her life was a musical. I have such fond, fond memories of choir class with Katherine in Mr. Russel’s choir room at Park High School. Katherine was a much more accomplished singer than me, so she had been in the upper choirs since forever. Once I finally got up there, Katherine and I had nothing but fun in that 82 minute class. Katherine was a soprano, and I was an alto, so we basically sat across the room from each other. What Katherine doesn’t know is that I watched her sing every single day, for 82 minutes. I admired her. I envied her abilities to read music and play the piano at a moment’s notice. I even was jealous of her GREAT water bottle that sat under her choir chair. She drank more water than anyone I knew. Thinking back on it now, I am pretty sure the only reason I started bringing my GREAT water bottle to each class was because I wanted to be as hydrated as Katherine. I figured if Katherine could carry around a water bottle, so could I. One last thought about music…today as I drove in my car, I was listening to a Josh Groben CD and all I could think was, “Katherine would love this music.” I am absolutely certain that the angel chorus in heaven is singing brighter and stronger now that Katherine can sit in the soprano section. Or maybe she is directing the angel choir, or playing accompaniment. Whatever the case, I am convinced that Katherine is hearing and singing the most beautiful music in all of creation right at this very second.
As I sit and write this tribute to my sister Katherine, I have Spanish music playing on my Itunes. How perfect. I was thinking about it today, and realized that Katherine was my saving grace in my high school Spanish classes. I had the privilege of sitting next to Katherine during Senora George’s Spanish class during the first semester of our senior year of high school, and sitting next to her in Senorita Spittal’s class second semester. There is no way I would have survived those Spanish classes without Katherine. In fact, as I go to teach my classes even now, I am reminded of the guidance my sister Katherine gave me as a high school student in Spanish class. I remember going to Katherine’s house (I still remember what it smelled like over there, and it was always so clean. Whenever I went there, Katherine offered me a glass of water, and because I wanted to be as healthy and hydrated as Katherine, I always accepted.)Back to my point, though…I went to Katherine’s house to study Spanish with her. I also went there to work on a project for Spanish. Our job was to teach the class about the different meanings and uses of some verbs I cannot seem to recall at this moment. I am pretty sure that Katherine wasn’t the one who needed help studying, and she would probably have rather worked on the project alone, because she practically knew the material better than anyone, but she and I worked together anyway. I honestly don’t remember what we talked about, or how we ended up presenting our project to the class, but I remember Katherine’s hospitality and generosity. She gave me a cup of water and Spanish help. That was Katherine.
You’re probably still kind of wondering why I keep referring to Katherine as my sister. That is where I want to focus this tribute now. Going to a public high school, I did not have many friends who were excited about their relationship with Jesus. In fact, I think it is safe to say that I knew only one person in my school that was willing to talk to me about Jesus. That person was my sister Katherine. You see, Katherine was not only my running buddy, hair braider, and Spanish tutor, she was a fellow believer in the Savior of the world. Katherine knew the truth. She knew what it meant to walk with Christ. She was secure in her beliefs. Over the years, my friendship with Katherine turned into one of sisterhood, as our conversations inevitably turned to faith and our purpose as Christians in this world. I still remember sitting in my parent’s living room with Katherine after she had studied abroad in Argentina, and she told me about a guy she had dated while there. When I asked her what happened to the relationship, her answer struck me and is a powerful testimony to me still today. Katherine said, “He was not at the same place spiritually as I was, and that is something that is really important to me, so we stopped dating.” I am eternally grateful for that conversation, because as I sit in my house in California, some years later, that statement is still as convicting now as it was that evening at my parent’s house. Katherine would not settle. She did not settle in sports, she did not settle in music, she did not settle in academics, and she would not settle for a man who did not have the same passion for the Savior that she had. That was Katherine.
The last time I saw and talked with Katherine was last Christmas break. My heart is heavy and burdened as I think of all the time that has passed between then and now, and all the time I could have spent investing in our friendship. One more phone call. One more email. One more letter sent. One more time to get together, and I never got around to it. My heart feels shattered within as I think about missed opportunities for the blessing of my sister Katherine’s friendship. Back to the last time I saw her…she was babysitting for a family in Minneapolis, and we were to meet at a breakfast restaurant on some corner downtown. I sat there waiting for Katherine, and when she finally entered, we decided to go somewhere a little less hectic where we could actually have a normal conversation without shouting over the chaos of the restaurant. We ended up at a small coffee shop Katherine knew about, and I remember she didn’t want to order something with too much sugar. Katherine was always so health-conscious. I miss her dearly as I remember our time last Christmas. We sat talking about what was going on in our lives at the time, me teaching Spanish way out in southern California, she babysitting and doing odd jobs. I distinctly remember Katherine offering me advice on how to make my elementary Spanish classes better, and to this day I wish I could remember what she said. Oh, how I long for Katherine to be a guest speaker in my classes. She would have some odd and crazy story to tell, and would tell it impeccably, with different voices and maybe a few dance moves here and there. She wouldn’t need note cards. She wouldn’t need a lectern. She would only need an audience and a topic, and she’d be off. The pain of missing her is almost unbearable tonight. Why, oh why, did I take her friendship for granted? Why, oh why didn’t I call her when I was home this summer? Why, oh why didn’t we get together more over breaks from college? Why, oh why, didn’t I invite her to visit me in California? What I wouldn’t give for a sleepover in the Olson’s basement, sauna, back massages, late-night talks about boys and our faith. I would ask her what advice she has for me as I go to teach my classes tomorrow. I would gladly accept her advice in a heartbeat, were she able to sit here with me now. My heart can hardly contain all the pain I am feeling inside, it is just awful. I took her for granted. I did not appreciate my sister Katherine like I should have. I did not tell her that I loved her. I did not thank her for all her Spanish advice that day in the coffee shop. I am not sure if we hugged when we departed. What I wouldn’t give to see her porcelain face and hear her laugh at this very moment.
The thing about tragedy is that it ends in heartbreak. People are left feeling empty and alone, at a loss as to how to move on from it. But this tragedy has a different ending. You see, Katherine was my sister. That means she believed the truth that we are more than conquerors. She believed that God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son. She believed in life everlasting. Which means, I will see Katherine again. We will once again sing in harmony. We will once again speak Spanish. We will once again run side by side. We will once again embrace, in the presence of our Heavenly Father who so graciously brought my sister Katherine to me in the first place. It is a selfish feeling, really, to want Katherine back here so she can give me Spanish advice. Because the joy that Katherine is experiencing at this very moment is more than I can even fathom. Katherine is singing harmony with the angels. She is probably dancing the tango or the salsa with all the other Spanish speaking people up there. More than a GREAT water bottle under her choir chair, she’s got a well that does not run dry. Her cup is over-flowing. What a hope we have who have been made new in Christ. What Satan desires as tragic, Jesus always turns out for good.
I will not be able to attend the visitation or funeral service for my sister Katherine. However, I do not need to be there. What is so cool about being a Christian is that we can pray to our omnipresent Father, and instantly we are connected as the body of believers. And one day, we will once again dance and sing with our sister Katherine because God’s design is bigger than tragedy.