I remember the day well. It started with a text saying all was okay. But within a couple of hours came another text. She wasn’t doing well. Then the FaceTime call. My heart sank. I told her I loved her and I was on my way.
The same was happening for my sister. We both hustled to make it in time but neither of us did. One year ago today, my sister—Jamie Lynn Peterson—went to be with Jesus. The Jesus she would always sing about:
“Jesus loves me. This I know. For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak but He is strong.”
Anyone who has lost someone, knows that as the days and months pass, you don’t miss them any less. In fact, you miss them more. The sudden tear in the family fabric may have been sewn, but time has a way of pushing more and more memories through the gaps in the material.
It’s the sayings we as a family remember most and now use in our everyday conversations to answer questions or comment on life. I credit it with her being Downs. She made the most of her words.
“Jamie, would you like some more spaghetti?”
Jamie, “Itty bit.”
After accomplishing anything, even just buckling her own seatbelt, Jamie would exclaim with pride, “I did it!”
When she had had enough of her brother’s teasing, we heard, “Be nice, Dougie.”
When my parents found out that Jamie had refused to go to church one morning, they asked her why she hadn’t gone. She looked at them, hung her head, shook it back and forth sadly and said, “Poor Jamie.”
Once when we were all out for dinner and she was almost through with her meal, I asked her what about her lunch, as she would always save half to take with her to her workshop the next day.
Her head shot up, her eyes grew large, and she announced painfully, “My lunch!” She refused to eat another bite, asked the waitress for a box for the rest of her meal, and then proceeded to eat half of our father’s because she was still hungry. (None of us saw this as unfair, as it really served Dad right since he had always taken half of our French fries when we were growing up.)
And when something was finished (especially something she wasn't enjoying), she would say, "It over."
So “itty bit,” “I did it!” “Be nice, insert appropriate name” “Poor, insert our own name,” “My lunch!” and "It over" are now all a part of the Peterson family lexicon, and each time we say it, a smile comes to our face as the memories return.
Love you, Jamie, and looking forward to the time we can be together again. Oh, and keep Dad away from your French fries.
The same was happening for my sister. We both hustled to make it in time but neither of us did. One year ago today, my sister—Jamie Lynn Peterson—went to be with Jesus. The Jesus she would always sing about:
“Jesus loves me. This I know. For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak but He is strong.”
Anyone who has lost someone, knows that as the days and months pass, you don’t miss them any less. In fact, you miss them more. The sudden tear in the family fabric may have been sewn, but time has a way of pushing more and more memories through the gaps in the material.
It’s the sayings we as a family remember most and now use in our everyday conversations to answer questions or comment on life. I credit it with her being Downs. She made the most of her words.
“Jamie, would you like some more spaghetti?”
Jamie, “Itty bit.”
After accomplishing anything, even just buckling her own seatbelt, Jamie would exclaim with pride, “I did it!”
When she had had enough of her brother’s teasing, we heard, “Be nice, Dougie.”
When my parents found out that Jamie had refused to go to church one morning, they asked her why she hadn’t gone. She looked at them, hung her head, shook it back and forth sadly and said, “Poor Jamie.”
Once when we were all out for dinner and she was almost through with her meal, I asked her what about her lunch, as she would always save half to take with her to her workshop the next day.
Her head shot up, her eyes grew large, and she announced painfully, “My lunch!” She refused to eat another bite, asked the waitress for a box for the rest of her meal, and then proceeded to eat half of our father’s because she was still hungry. (None of us saw this as unfair, as it really served Dad right since he had always taken half of our French fries when we were growing up.)
And when something was finished (especially something she wasn't enjoying), she would say, "It over."
So “itty bit,” “I did it!” “Be nice, insert appropriate name” “Poor, insert our own name,” “My lunch!” and "It over" are now all a part of the Peterson family lexicon, and each time we say it, a smile comes to our face as the memories return.
Love you, Jamie, and looking forward to the time we can be together again. Oh, and keep Dad away from your French fries.
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