Bright Pink Rose

A bright pink rose sits in a small glass vase in the center of my oven. It’s a beautiful rose. Just like Holly. As is the rose- Holly was full of life, loved by so many people, gorgeous to look at, but just as gorgeous on the inside. Dear, sweet Holly never knew a stranger. She reached out to any person, and she loved every one she met. Holly loved God, and she loved people.
The rose that sits on my oven is from Holly’s grave. The funeral service man handed it to me right off of her casket. Her casket was gold and sparkly…representing Holly perfectly. She was bubbly, cheery, happy, and loved to laugh. We laughed together for countless hours. We had countless sleepovers together…being silly and talking about all kinds of things.
Not only was Holly my cousin, she was my friend. I have known her for my entire life. There is not a time in my life when I didn’t know Holly. She had the Cricket Doll that I longed for as a child. We braided Pretty Pretty Crimp and Curl Cabbage Patch Doll’s hair together. We went bowling and had silly pictures taken. We did our thumb dance together, we sang karaoke.
I’m sitting here at my desk, and her email address is written on a note pad. I was just about to email her before I left for vacation two weeks ago. I hadn’t emailed her yet. Hadn’t asked her about married life. Hadn’t even said hi! I never would have thought…and here it sits. Alone. Pointless.
There is a bright pink daisy in a petite glass vase on my kitchen table. I picked it off of Holly’s grave myself. HOLLY’S GRAVE. Why does Holly, my 21-year-old cousin have a grave?
I miss Holly, and my heart aches in her absence. I miss her. This is something that happens to other families. Not mine…but, yet it has. It has happened, and it hurts so much. Hurts to remember the way she looked lying there. I know she’s with Jesus, I know that. But there’s something about seeing a lifeless body of a person that you loved so dearly that just rips your heart to pieces. I can’t shake that imagine, and it grieves my heart.
I don’t question God. Her own parents say, “It was not an accident.” I mourn though. I mourn her loss, and I know my Jesus weeps with me. Jesus weeps with Aunt Char, and Uncle Tim, and Eric, and Jesus weeps with Jeff, and He weeps with Grandma Fern, Grandma Mildred, and Grandpa Gene. I hope Holly’s is sitting with Grandpa M. I already know she’s sitting with our Father. But I hope that Grandpa and Holly are having a reunion and I hope they’re looking down knowing how much they’re loved, and missed. This is something that you never get over.
Until we meet again…