Mother had cancer. When she went to the hospital the last time, someone sent
her an Easter lily to brighten her room. Only moments later we were told it had
to be removed as her immune system was too low. It was a beautiful plant with
many blooms and yet she got to enjoy it for only a few minutes.
Convinced in my heart that she was going to recover enough to come home
one more time, I told her I would take good care of it. She would see it again as
soon as she was well enough to be released from the hospital.
Mother never saw her lily again. My world turned upside down and days turned
into months before I knew it. The lily lost its blooms and withered to nothing but
dried sticks.
After moving the pot a hundred times, I finally planted the bulb outside. "It can
either grow or die," I said, figuring it was already dead anyway.
Time went by and I completely forgot all about that lily, until the next spring
came and I saw it growing again. I was angry. Mother died and she couldn't
come back, so why can that lily? It wasn't fair.
It bloomed beautifully that season with no help from me. Then the hot summer
sun came and it withered and died again. I finally broke off the sticks at ground
level once again and said to the plant, "Guess that's all you got?"
It's been two years now, and it's almost Easter again. As I stare out the window
at the planter outside, I am surprised to see the lily once again peeking it's
green leaves out of the dirt.
Easter is the religious celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. I've
known that all my life. But not until today did I realize what resurrection truly
means. To die, and to rise again to live. That's what the lily has taught me. As
Christ died and rose again, so does this lily. So did my Mother.
I'm so grateful for this flower that honors my Mother on the anniversary of her
death every year. For during a time when I would be so saddened, it reminds
me that there is a resurrection. That there is life after death. It rises in all its
glory, putting on more flowers every year than the year before.
Although I still miss her terribly, especially in April, I look at that beautiful flower
and have bitter-sweet memories. Memories of a woman who loved me very
much and who I loved with ever fiber of my being. I know in my heart she has
gone to live with the Lord, and in that knowledge comes peace to my heart. For
I know one day I will see her again. And I can't wait to tell her about the lily.
I don't mistreat the plant anymore because I'm no longer angry with it. Instead, I
coddle it and coax it and watch the dirt for signs that it's coming again. Just as I
believe we should watch for signs that Jesus is coming again.
her an Easter lily to brighten her room. Only moments later we were told it had
to be removed as her immune system was too low. It was a beautiful plant with
many blooms and yet she got to enjoy it for only a few minutes.
Convinced in my heart that she was going to recover enough to come home
one more time, I told her I would take good care of it. She would see it again as
soon as she was well enough to be released from the hospital.
Mother never saw her lily again. My world turned upside down and days turned
into months before I knew it. The lily lost its blooms and withered to nothing but
dried sticks.
After moving the pot a hundred times, I finally planted the bulb outside. "It can
either grow or die," I said, figuring it was already dead anyway.
Time went by and I completely forgot all about that lily, until the next spring
came and I saw it growing again. I was angry. Mother died and she couldn't
come back, so why can that lily? It wasn't fair.
It bloomed beautifully that season with no help from me. Then the hot summer
sun came and it withered and died again. I finally broke off the sticks at ground
level once again and said to the plant, "Guess that's all you got?"
It's been two years now, and it's almost Easter again. As I stare out the window
at the planter outside, I am surprised to see the lily once again peeking it's
green leaves out of the dirt.
Easter is the religious celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. I've
known that all my life. But not until today did I realize what resurrection truly
means. To die, and to rise again to live. That's what the lily has taught me. As
Christ died and rose again, so does this lily. So did my Mother.
I'm so grateful for this flower that honors my Mother on the anniversary of her
death every year. For during a time when I would be so saddened, it reminds
me that there is a resurrection. That there is life after death. It rises in all its
glory, putting on more flowers every year than the year before.
Although I still miss her terribly, especially in April, I look at that beautiful flower
and have bitter-sweet memories. Memories of a woman who loved me very
much and who I loved with ever fiber of my being. I know in my heart she has
gone to live with the Lord, and in that knowledge comes peace to my heart. For
I know one day I will see her again. And I can't wait to tell her about the lily.
I don't mistreat the plant anymore because I'm no longer angry with it. Instead, I
coddle it and coax it and watch the dirt for signs that it's coming again. Just as I
believe we should watch for signs that Jesus is coming again.
| The Easter Lily Ferna Lary Mills |
| A Christian Grief Ministry |
Life After Loss |