My Sister Cried

I ignored my ringing phone and let the hot water run over me. Maybe an extra long shower would loosen the tightness that had crept into my back muscles when I allowed myself an extra two hours sleep this morning. It was Saturday, who would call at 9 a.m.? Turning the faucet off and reaching for my towel, I hoped it wouldn't be one of the kids with an emergency.

I looked at the caller ID and was a little irritated to see her name. She has a habit of calling me after church on Sunday and wanting to get together last minute. I sighed and for a minute considered not returning the call. I wasn't really in the mood to chat or have tea or rush out to meet someone. We haven't seen each other for a few months. My job. Her job. I think she has a new male friend who is keeping her busy - I'm very happy for her in that regard. Her kids are out of state, like mine. We're just so...busy.

But we're still friends. We have been since Katrina blew her into Texas and our relationship was formed one morning in the parking lot of an apartment complex. It (the relationship) grew from a chance meeting into a trusting, caring, rare thing that has to be tended to. That's what friendship is. I dialed her number, got voicemail, and let her know that I missed her. I do.

I wrapped my towel around me and took my phone into my bedroom. In less than 5 minutes she called me back. She was crying. She only needed to hear my voice for a few minutes to let me tell her that I love her. Her mother died.

I do love her and I would give anything to sit beside her right now and just be.

We'll have that cup of tea when she returns to Houston, whenever that is. Today I sit in gratitude that she thought to call me early on a Saturday morning, when her heart is broken once again. She has endured loss and tragedy like very few I've ever known. I've watched her rise from the bitter wrecks of Katrina, pulling herself up with such admirable strength and today I felt her sorrow pour through the miles and over my phone to me. My heart is so very heavy for her. I can't make it any better. I can only love her, my New Orleans sister.