7:40 AM on a Saturday morning
Little did I know that soon I’d be mourning 
I received a call 
That I didn’t want at all
Sarah my sister was in a car crash
With that news, my life felt turned to ash

​

‘Get to Sarah’ was my next thought
I didn’t even think to pack an extra sock
But before I did leave
I took a moment to breathe
Realizing I couldn’t do this by myself
I grabbed something of Sarah’s off my bookshelf
I didn’t want to go alone
So I grabbed a telephone

​

A small figurine  
Of something that can been seen
On the streets of London
The iconic red telephone box.

​

I didn’t pack extra socks
But I packed this telephone box
Because Sarah had gotten it for me
As a gift to be
When she traveled to London two summers ago
When neither of us would know 
That Sarah’s life would end before 
Turning twenty-four

​

Sarah didn’t live to her 24th birthday
Leaving me to say, 
“I want my sister back”
But that she’s gone is a cold hard fact

​

This little telephone stayed in my hand 
I told myself that it was like I was holding Sarah’s hand
Never did I let it go
For the entire 12 hours it took to go
From the time of the call
To when I walked down the hospital hall

 

Finally I made it to Sarah in her bed 
What could be said?
She was struck 
By a truck
“Brain dead”
Is what the nurse said

​

Yet Sarah was fully whole
Still looking remarkably beautiful 
 
The first thing I did as I approached her bed
Was not to kiss her head
But to place the telephone in her hand with more to be said

​

Two separate hands 
On two separate journeys
Now together
But not forever

​

The morning after Sarah’s passing
Struggling to accept being without a sister is how I’m left lasting,
I sat looking out a window at the sun
Thinking how Sarah’s life was done

​

All this time I held this telephone but didn’t see
That still in my hand was Sarah’s gift to me
So as I sat with tears streaming down
Having my heart pound
I looked more closely at Sarah’s gift to me 
Observing more intently what I could see

​

I actually read the word ‘telephone’ printed across the box
I didn’t pack extra socks
But I packed this telephone box

​

All this time I knew it was a telephone
But now it was my telephone to heaven
Without thinking at all
I held the small phone up to my ear
Knowing that Sarah would hear
As I called her asking, “What’s it like up there?”
Into my eyes the sun did glare
As I made my first call to heaven

​

I wish I didn’t have to make these calls
But now I’ve got heaven on speed dial
Don’t have to wait for awhile
No messages unread 
Let it be said:

​

When Sarah gave me the telephone
It was just a small token of her love
But now this telephone is how I can talk to Sarah from above