Words fail

Karin died in the early morning the day I left.  My sister Janet, a nurse, felt she needed to be with her and went to the hospital at 3 a.m. The day before Karin had been quite agitated with reduced oxygen to the brain, but Janet had been visiting at the hospital with her son and daughter-in-law. A passing doctor, a Christian man from India, asked if they would like prayer, and prayed with them. After that, Karin calmed down, but Janet knew the end was near.  She was there holding Karin's hand at 6 a.m. when the monitor stopped showing signs of life.  Karin had been sleeping.

I had left Paris in the early morning darkness, and the lightly falling rain had mirrored my spirits.  The airport was relatively quiet at this time, and the security and lounge area for the United passengers was completely deserted.  Taking the long escalator to the terminal by myself was eerie, as no one else was in sight, and I could hear the faintest strains of melancholic music in the air.  It was like a scene out of the Twilight Zone, but at the time, Karin's impending death seemed unreal.

Minutes after taking off, I gazed out of the window and noted that the sky was a beautiful blue above the clouds.  It must have been about then that she was taken from us.  I wish I could have said one last good-bye, but am so glad that Janet was by her side.

My sister Janet posted the following tribute to her close friends on Facebook:

Dearest Karin,
Your smile brought sunshine to the room.
You were kind, had dignity, respect and loved by all who crossed your path.
Now you are shining bright in a better place.

Peace be with you my dear sister.

I will always love and miss you...

I am still in shock. It is so very, very sad that words fail.