I slowly peer into my kitchen. The intruding hospital bed is still in place, but the frail body is missing. A small music box sits next to the empty bed, and I gently wind the key. A simple melody plays. I sit. I stare. I keep rewinding the music box to repeat the eerie trail of notes, attempting to lengthen this moment. Attempting to secure it in the folds of my memory. It must have looked so dismal, looking in from the outside. No ten year old should experience this.

My sister, Melody Joy Pfohl, was deemed mentally and physically retarded from birth. Whenever I was asked about her I would simply say “she can’t talk, walk and is in a wheelchair.” Medically, she was classified as inferior, pathetic, and useless. This is far from the truth. Melody impacted more people during her short 18 years of life, even without saying a word, than most people will in a lifetime. She radiated God’s love and joy for all lucky enough to know her. My life, among many other people, has been changed because of her.

I remember certain events following Melody’s death very clearly, and others seem like a distant fog, only resurfacing with the aid of a photograph or comment from another. I remember my teachers coming to the calling hours. I remember seeing her lying in her casket, completely peaceful, yet cold and empty. I remember my family crying, saying goodbye, for what I later learned was the last time I would ever see my sister again on this earth. I remember the friend who skipped school to come to the funeral. I remember the cards my classmates sent me. I remember so much, yet so little. Each memory is a piece of the puzzle of my childhood, yet I can't seem to find the rest of the missing pieces.

Melody taught me to love; under any circumstance. My family would sometimes bring her to the mall, or go on walks together and we would be subject to judgmental glances from passers-by. As a child, I would ask my parents why people would stare at us and especially my sister. I’ve learned it is because people don’t understand. They can’t love what they see if it is flawed in any way. Melody’s physical flaws made it nearly impossible for some people to love and accept her. They failed to understand that she was made in the image of God, and is loved by him as well. It is easy to judge by appearances, but having Melody as a sister taught me to look beyond the exterior of a person.

Melody also taught me to be joyful, no matter your lot. She had the largest and most contagious smile of anyone I’ve ever met. Melody loved music. It somehow reached into her soul and brought out the greatest joy I’ve ever witnessed. Because of this, my family decided to attend the concert of a famous guitarist who was playing at a local church. We arrived and soon created quite a scene. I was around the age of six or seven, and because the concert was at night I fell asleep on my mother's lap. Melody, inspired by the music, began to squeal and flap her arms like a mad conductor. (She would often do this when listening to music because of the joy it brought her). Her noises continued to get louder and eventually we were asked to leave the concert. The performers wife felt bad for us and gave my family a few CD’s to take home. We look back at this now and laugh, as we remember the extreme joy that Melody possessed.

Lastly, She taught me about the importance of family. I sometimes hear my friends talk about how they “hate” their siblings, and I always feel like saying, "You wouldn’t say that if they were dead." Having a sister like Melody made me realize that life is fleeting and that I need to cherish those I have near me, especially my family. She also caused my family to become more united. As we grieved, celebrated or remembered, we did it together. Having each other during that time made it possible to endure. As the years pass, my family still has that bond that will never dissolve because of Melody.

Although it’s been seven years, I know my sister is still in my heart. I look forward to the day when I will see her again, freely dancing, singing, and smiling that cherished smile.

"The butterfly emerges from its silken shell -- Reborn, it arises, no longer bound to earth. Free at last, the butterfly glides to heights unknown before. So do our loved ones find a beautiful release as, earthbound no more, they leave our sight and joyfully rise to a garden of matchless beauty, a place of light and peace." --Evelyn Phillips