Sunday Mom spoke at the Titus 2 meeting at church on mentoring each other in Christ, and Peter drove us home from Mammoth in time for me to hear her. The tables were all set so nicely with bouquets which were sent home with those of us who stood around talking until it was time to clean up. I was grateful for the bit of cheeriness on my table in the mess of unpacking and the stress of sick little ones, and noticed that the lilies in the bouquet had opened yesterday.
Peter told me abruptly this morning that his cousin Lily had drowned in Panama yesterday. She was 26 years old.
It doesn’t seem real that she’s gone, and at the same time, there is a weight in my heart that won’t go away and I know the touch of grief. I regret not praying for her more…what if I had? Would my prayers have saved her? I cannot believe that they would have, and yet I still wish I had.
Throughout today I have been recalling all of my memories of her…when I first met Lily, when she predicted a boy when I was pregnant with Jerome; we met her at her work a couple times and had lunch with her, one time Vann and Vanessa were with us when she worked at Guess and she gave us all her discounts on outfits for the kids; when she would come to family dinners; when we met her dad; when we met her at a trade show and she spent an evening with us in Tahoe; and the last time I saw her over the holidays last year.
I remember her tears, and I remember her laughing through them.
I remember Lily, as beautiful as the flower of her name, and I know she knows we love her.
