We do not speak of the dead. Perhaps, we don’t know what to say. Perhaps we are fearful of causing pain. Perhaps we find the memories of those who have gone on before us just too much to put into words. And so we do not speak of the dead.
To lose a child is heartbreaking. It is the loss of camaraderie and friendship. It is the loss of love and companionship. It is the loss of hope, future, and dreams. You grow accustomed to the loss of their presence, but never to the loss of their memory. To not speak their name, is to have them truly disappear.
And so I speak the name of Lily, like a prayer.
Lily, like a lament.
Like a whisper.
Like a hope.
Like a purpose.
Like a blanket.
Like a destination.
Like a salvation.
Like a memory.
Like a dream.
Like a balm.
Lily ...
