LISA
Perhaps I should have told Jennie I wouldn't be coming in today, but I wasn't thinking clearly when I took off in a rush last night. The anniversary of Linda's death is always a difficult day for me and knowing that this might be the first year that Lily can understand the truth, only makes it harder.
Heading for her grave with big bunches of white lilies, my father, Jackie, Lily and I cross the cemetery in silence. We never speak much on this day; we're just here to remember her, all in our own way. Past the bent willow that arches over a network of narrow paths, her white headstone shimmers in the sunlight. It's strange to think Linda's been reduced to this, a piece of white marble with her name on it. The quiet spot in the back of the cemetery is beautiful, though, with wildflowers now scattered throughout the grass. She's lying next to my mother, who has a similar headstone, and both their graves are tidy, the red roses my father put there are still blooming. He visits several times a week, even in winter, but I only come once a year as I'd rather remember Linda the way she was; always positive, sweet, caring and good-natured. It's not fair that she was taken from us so soon, but after grief counselling and turning all my attention to Lily, I've accepted her death, and now I can be here without bursting into floods of tears.
Still, it's difficult and as if she knows I'm struggling, my usually talkative Lily silently tightens her grip on my hand and looks up at me as we come to a halt by her mother's grave. My father places the extra vase he's brought next to the other one on the stone plateau, slides the flowers in and adds water from a Coke bottle. Then he takes the basket with daisies—my mother's favorite—from Jackie and places them on her grave. He's always made sure my mother has fresh flowers; he used to bring us here every week when Linda and I were young, and now he's doing the same for Linda. Knowing how I've felt, I can't imagine the pain he's been through, but he still smiles his way through life. What strength that must take, and I admire him for it. Unlike my father, I never went to church and although I wasn't completely onboard with the 'angels' part of the inscription he ordered for the headstone, I like it now.
Linda Manoban
Singing with the angels
Beloved daughter, sister and mother
Your voice will always ring through our hearts
"Linda," Dad murmurs. "We're here." Then he takes a deep breath and looks up at the sky. "Honey, I hope you're taking good care of her."
"Linda," Lily repeats quietly.
"Linda was your first mom," I say, pointing to the picture that's placed in front of her headstone. It shows Linda with a beaming smile at a festival in Nashville. She's wearing a bohemian white dress and she's got flowers in her hair. It was where she became pregnant following a one-night stand with a handsome stranger after performing as a backing singer for a big act. "She was also my sister and a very good singer."
"Can I have a sister?" Lily brightens the mood a little with her random question, and we all chuckle.
"I don't think that will happen, honey. But you can have as many friends as you want. Sometimes friends are just as valuable as family." I pick her up, lift her onto my hip and kiss her cheek.
"Is Linda in heaven?"
"Yes, she is. She's with Grandma. We all miss them very much, but we'll see them again one day, a long time from now." I'm not sure why I'm telling her this as I don't believe in heaven, but it seems like the right thing to say to a four-year-old.
"How many sleeps until we see them?" Lily asks.
Jackie smiles at her and shakes her head. "For you, many, many sleeps. Too many to count, so don't worry your little head about it."
Seeing Lily's puzzled expression, a lump forms in my throat. At least she won't ever feel the stabbing pain of loss since she doesn't remember her mother. I don't remember mine either and it's much easier that way. Over the years I've formed my own idea of who she was, combining photographs I've seen and stories my father and Jackie told me into a mental collage of a sweet, beautiful, smart, loving and inspiring woman. Of course, no one is as perfect as I picture her, but I like my imaginary mother and it worked for me growing up.
"Four years," Jackie says. "How time flies." She sighs deeply and puts an arm around my father who is getting teary.
"Are you sad, Grandpa?" Lily asks.
"Sometimes, sweetheart. Sometimes I'm sad because I miss the people I loved very much." He leans in and strokes her cheek. "But you know what? You make everything better. And so do your mom and Jackie."
Lily grins and reaches out for him and I place her in his arms. "Better," she says, pushing a finger against his nose. She looks so much like Linda when she laughs and deep down, I hope my sister is somehow aware that she's here with us, that she's turned into a sweet, brave girl with an amazing future ahead of her. I hope she knows that I've grown up and calmed down and would do anything to protect Lily, and that the three people here love her more than anything in the world. It's true. She does make everything better.