“River flooded again,” my husband said, staring out the window.
The quaint little brook that ran alongside our property was one of the reasons we’d bought this house. Problem was, when it stormed, tree branches got carried on the current, clogged up the river and flooded our yard.
Daryl and I put on old clothes and grabbed a couple of rakes from the garage. “Let’s split up,” he said. “I’ll start at one end and you start at the other.”
I wish Kyle were here, I thought, walking along the water, bending down every few feet to fish a branch out with my rake. All these years after his death I still caught myself thinking of my brother when there were chores to be done.
We were raised on a dairy farm and grew up doing jobs like this. There were enough of us kids that we always had a buddy to talk to while we worked. Kyle and I milked cows together at dawn, and herded cattle back into our pasture in the evening after they’d been out grazing. Chores didn’t seem so bad when you had someone to do them with.
But I couldn’t ask for Kyle’s help now. He’d been killed in a farming accident when I was still a girl. A tractor turned over on him. He’d been rushing to get through his work that day so he could go buy me a present for my school graduation. My head told me the accident wasn’t my fault, but sometimes in my heart I felt like I was partly to blame.
I spied a big branch caught on a rock. It looked like it would be particularly difficult to fish out of the roiling current. Now I really wish Kyle were here. I dug my work boots into the muddy banks of the brook to get my footing. Stretching my arm out with my rake, I grunted as I tried to reach the branch.
It was farther out than I’d figured. Kyle was long and lean. He could’ve gotten that branch out lickety-split, I thought. But I was on my own now. It was time I stopped living in the past. That was hard for me to do. Yard work brought memories of Kyle, memories of Kyle brought memories of that awful day.
I’d been so excited for my school graduation. Racing around the house in my outfit for the ceremony, chattering on about the presents everyone in the family—including my brother—was going to buy me. Maybe if I hadn’t been so selfish back then my brother wouldn’t have died. Maybe having to do my chores alone now without any help was one of God’s lessons for me. Maybe I didn’t deserve anyone’s help. Not after I’d lost my brother.
I reached out again with my rake. The mud gave way under my feet. I groped for something to hold on to. A tree. A rock. But there was nothing. My heart pounded. I’m going in!
A hand grabbed my elbow. I wondered how Daryl knew I was in trouble. For now I couldn’t even turn to see him. With his steadying force I was able to regain my footing. I even stretched a bit farther with the rake, caught hold of the branch and drug it in. Then Daryl let go of my arm. I turned around.
“Just in time,” I started. But there was nobody there. “Daryl!” I called. “Daryl!” I squinted, peering all around, but there was no sight of him. He must have still been far across the yard. If it wasn’t Daryl, then who had helped me?
That night over dinner I questioned Daryl about the incident for the hundredth time.
“Tammy, like I said before, I wasn’t there to help you,” Daryl said. “But, you know, if you really needed help, all you had to do was come and ask me.”
Of course he was right. I’d let my guilty feelings keep me from it. Meantime God must have sent an angel to steady me. I believe he wanted me to know that it was time to stop blaming myself for my brother’s accident. I was deserving of help in God’s eyes. He’d sent an angel to prove it.
I thought about Kyle, laughing and talking as he helped me milk the cows. But for the first time, the memory didn’t bring on feelings of guilt. My brother had helped me once again.
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