I scanned across the restaurant to see if anyone was with her. At the register I saw a tall Amish man in a broad brimmed straw hat. I hadn't seen him, or his wife in almost 11 years, his hair had turned white, but he was definitely my sisters husband. My sister that was 12 years older than I, whom I looked up to, and pretty much thought she had hung the moon. She had gotten married when I was 10, and 9 months later gave birth to a sweet little girl that they named Saloma.
What 10 year old aunt doesn't dream of having a niece named after her? 😉 Ok, that's probably only in large families.
I stood there observing them from the crowd of Walmart shoppers in plain sight. My heart ached and I blinked back the tears. I missed them. I missed my family, but my eyes were opened to something I hadn't noticed so much while I was Amish. Their faces showed no joy, not even a smidge. She looked pale and tired. Her dress of blue seemed dark and drab, her husband looked equally unhappy.
I had a deep sadness for them, as I wondered if they have ever experienced joy. Joy unspeakable. Joy deep within, like I had.
I wanted to talk to her, to hug her, and tell her I miss her. Instead I left, and shared with my kids all the things I loved about my sister Lovina.
2 years later I met her at one of my brother in laws funeral. 7 of us sisters got to sit a talk for a spell. Lovina told me of how I was the most precious smilingest blue eyed baby she ever saw, (you can see why I love her😉) and then she added how she wished things were still like they used to be, and if we would please come back before it's too late.
She genuinely believes being Amish saves her, and wants that for me.
