"Sarah Brown,
Sarah Brown your name will no longer be..."
Super Sarah was getting married. What a concept! How mysterious, and romantic, and funny. Could it be true she had found someone else who would plot adventures with her? Imagine that. We reluctantly relinquished her... and sang for her.
Our Sarah, we Lundmark sisters called her, because she felt like another sister.
I was adjusting to my first year of life outside ONU, and she was a breath of fresh air, a "kindred spirit."
I remember the day we met Sarah.
My brother Dan stepped out of his turquoise boat of a car with two girls one sunny day.
"Come meet Sarah and Sasa," he called to us through the screen door.
We hung back. He never brought girls home before.
My mother wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door. She folded them in her arms.
My younger sisters eagerly gathered around the girls, talking at once.
I glanced at my brother. Dan grinned back. Mission accomplished.
From then on, we spent hours talking with Sarah. We laughed,and sang ... and prayed.
Sarah taught us to make a blade of grass sing.
We taught her how to make muesli from scratch.
We might need to brush up on those lessons again.
She went camping with us to Cornerstone Festival. Mud, sleepless midnights, togetherness, lectures and music...
If we went for a walk, she was welcome. Usual destinations: Kankakee State Park and Perry Farm.
She shared her heart, her milestones, and enjoyed us.
I met her sisters, their Steve's, and, eventually, her car Steve.
I prayed for its return when someone stole it!
She prayed me through my traumas, too.
How I missed her when she moved to U of I, and envied the lucky people who would enjoy her adorable Sarah laugh, her way of making everyone feel like they were in on her secrets, and her knack for making memories.
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