I am always touched by the crosses I see on country roads, the purest and most personal kind of remembrances, they are always so faithfully maintained, they are so personal. They speak of the love people have for the people who are lost,  they are powerful messages of the soul. When I pass these crosses, I think I will never know these people, rarely will stop to learn about them, I think of the pain and feeling of the people who drive to the sites where loved ones died, and built their own kind of memorials, they whisper to the passerby, remember them. I did not know these two people who died, I drove by this marker often. I never expect to know who the people are that these crosses by the road signify, until this week, I never once knew.

I posted a photo earlier this week of the crosses and the sign, which only read “Shirley,” when I drove by today the marker had been restored, the name “Steve,” worn out in a bitter winter, put back on.

I learned shortly after my post of the power of a sister’s love.

I got an e-mail message from Sabrina, she is the sister of Steve, she told me who he and Shirley were, and I am grateful to her, it is another wonderful gift from my blog, a kind of miracle. “The name you cannot see is Steve,” she wrote,”the accident was involving two people on a motorcyle when an oncoming car cut them off turning into their path. With no time to stop, both riders were thrown from the motorcycle. Shirley was 19 and killed instantly,” “Steve was 24…”

Steve was the father of a two-year-old, a popular volunteer fireman, and a farmer.  Several people e-mailed me and talked about how much they liked and admired him. He and Shirley had just begun dating, she was a shy, quiet and polite young woman. Steve loved spending time with his younger brothers and his nephew. “I miss his daily phone calls and I miss his text messages,” said his sister, “I miss hearing him pull into the driveway, radio blaring some country song. I miss his infectious laugh, and I miss his hugs. I know it is normal to say that the person you lost is so wonderful. But I miss my brother more than I could ever imagine. We were born two years, two months and two days apart. I can’t imagine ever getting through this pain.”

My wish for Sabrina is that she does somehow get through the pain. I am humbled by the crosses on the road, our culture runs from death, hides it, turns away from it, banishes it from our popular culture, you can spend your whole life watching TV, going to the movies, trawling on social media and not really deal with it. Until you do. We have all faced it, we will all face it, the crosses by the road are crosses for me to bear, I think, as well. I am grateful for Shirley for bringing these crosses to life, and I am certain it is her who plants these flowers, keeps the names visible and clear, I saw her footsteps on the road leading up them. I will think of her as well as them, I will look for her footsteps in the snow, they crossed my own.