Essential Estrogen

The morning of Friday, April 28, I received a phone call that sparked a chain of events that took the three children and me on a road trip to Oklahoma. Needless to say, it was the type of phone call that no one ever wants to receive.

There was a house fire -- Debbie has died. We don't know much else yet, but there is one more thing. God, I don't want to tell you this on the phone. The authorities think it is suspicious.

I sat and listened. Then I quickly hung up and ran into the bathroom to be sick. How could something like this happen? It must be a nightmare, and, if I just will myself, I'm going to wake up.

Unfortunately, this was no nightmare that would be washed away by the dawn.

Needless to say, I wasn't good for much on Friday as I waited for more information. I've never felt more helpless than I did that day, three states away from family that I knew needed me -- that I needed. I spoke with journalists who were covering the story locally. Mostly, I just had to convince myself that this was true, that a fire really did happen and that my niece had really died. I spoke with the fire department, although they were waiting on my sister and brothers to arrive and wouldn't provide me -- the strange, hysterical reporter lady in Iowa -- much information.

I waited... debated pulling the kids out of school that day and starting the trip down south... but just kept waiting. The kids came home from school and I dreaded telling them. They weren't that close with my niece, but death always has a way of creeping into young people's thoughts when it strikes close to home.

I was to attend the 2nd District Democratic Convention on Saturday and run for re-election to the State Central Committee. On Sunday, I was supposed to go horseback riding with the Girl Scout troop. Funny how those two things -- things that seemed so important just a few hours before -- melted away as insignificant.

My large family had already begun to gather around the grieving sister. When I spoke with family Friday night, they told me to come Sunday -- that Debbie, who had been so proud that I sat on the State Central Committee, would have wanted me to attend the convention and run for re-election as I'd planned. If anyone reading this had the misfortune of hearing my so-called speech at the convention, then I don't need to tell you that my heart just wasn't in it. I'm extremely grateful for the friends who stuck around until ungodly hours to vote for me, who took it upon themselves to campaign for me during the convention and who ensured my re-election. I've no doubt that there is no way I could have done it on my own -- I was busy answering the phone, getting more bits and pieces of information from three states away.

The boyfriend is in the hospital, smoke inhalation. The fire is definitely suspicious -- investigators can't find a cause, have asked neighbors and the public to call an arson line if they saw anything. Not sure about the funeral yet, investigation may postpone it.

By the time I got home Saturday night, it was early Sunday morning. I collapsed, still dressed onto the bed and let the bottled up emotions flow freely for the first time.

My husband had to stay home, so, the next morning, the children and I packed suitcases and piled into the car for the long drive. We almost made it, but finally stopped at a hotel in Joplin, Mo. We completed the trip the following morning, driving on Oklahoma toll roads and state highways. It was amazing to see trees full of leaves and flowers already blooming.

The next few days were a blur. There was a visitation, the funeral service and family -- lots of family. Why is it that when we grow old, we tend to only gather with family at the most sad times?

The most difficult aspect of the trip was watching Debbie's 7-year-old daughter -- who looks so very much like her mother -- and 5-year-old son grieve at the funeral. Their sobbing prompted my youngest two -- just 8 and 5 -- to being their own grieving process. What can you do? There's no explanation, no reason and no real comfort. So, you hold them close and let them feel the warmth of the sun on the tops of their heads.

While I didn't have 30-some years to fall in love with my son who was stillborn, I still felt the pang of knowing what my sister would be going through in the coming months and years. Another soul with another raw gaping hole that time will never fully heal. Right now, she's not interested in knowing the hows and whys of what happened. She understands that foul play or not, her daughter is gone. Knowledge is small comfort.

Later that night, I sat on the back deck at my brother's home -- which was formerly my parent's home -- and watched the ghosts of the past at play in the yard. An old, metal swing set use to sit beside the house. One warm night Debbie and I were running around the yard, getting ready to play our favorite game, "Ghosts in the Graveyard." We decided it wasn't quite dark enough to start the game, although the sun was quickly setting. We began a game where we pushed the sawhorse on the swing set. I'd push it and she'd catch it. She'd push it and I'd catch it. It was going great until I gave it a hard push, too fast for Deb to catch. The metal bar, long missing the plastic protector at the end, smashed into Deb's face, just above her lip. The gash was deep and required several stitches.

We were both young at the time -- I think I was about 12 and she was about 8, I don't remember exactly. As we grew up, the scar moved up into her nose where only the slightest blemish could be seen -- and then, only if you looked for it. Still, I never once saw Debbie after that without that scar flashing at me like a neon sign. I cannot count the number of times I told her how sorry I was. Accidents are like that. In a single snap of time, everything changes forever.

We hugged family and friends and began our journey back home, despite the fact that it felt too soon to be leaving. Thunderstorms and tornadoes pushed at our backs as we abandoned the fastest route that was in the direct line of storms and opted for the longer drive across Missouri. I drove straight through -- not wanting to be away from my home and husband any longer, not wanting to watch nature's fury over a strange landscape (but understanding exactly how nature felt).