It had been a restless sleep. The hours after attending the funeral for my beloved younger sister were filled with tears and anxious thoughts. I kept thinking how I wished I had hugged her more and told her how much she meant to me. I pleaded for God’s help.
That night, my two-year-old daughter slept on a bed roll near mine and my husband’s bed. During the wee hours, I watched someone place my little girl in bed. It was dark, so I couldn’t make out who had handed her to me.
My daughter’s tiny arms wrapped around my waist, and we slept cocooned like that until morning. It felt warm, cozy and peaceful with her beside me.
When I awoke, I mentioned to my husband what had happened with my daughter and asked if he had handed her to me. He shook his head.
Someone had lifted my tiny girl up and placed her in my arms. I knew that with all my heart. But who?
Who else, but God.
I needed my daughter’s arms that night.
Remembering my sister today and always.