Chapter 19 - THE FOUNDATION WITH HER NAME
One year after the funeral, Vance Meridian announced a new foundation.
I refused to name it after the company.
I named it Lily’s Line.
Its first program funded emergency family travel for parents whose children were hospitalized far from home.
Flights.
Hotels.
Childcare.
Transportation.
No parent should have to choose between money and reaching a hospital bed.
The second program funded meningitis education and rapid-response grants.
The third supported families dealing with sudden pediatric loss.
A reporter asked me why I did not simply create a meningitis charity.
“Because Lily’s death taught me two separate things.”
I said.
“Disease can move unbelievably fast.”
“And people can waste time believing they will answer the important call later.”
The foundation’s symbol was a small white phone surrounded by seven stars.
One for each year Lily lived.
On opening day, Nurse Rachel attended.
When I saw her, I cried before she even hugged me.
“You look different.”
She said.
“I am.”
“Better?”
“Some days.”
She smiled.
“That counts.”
We walked through the new family room.
Purple blankets sat on every chair.
I laughed.
“Purple?”
Rachel smiled.
“Ugly purple.”
My eyes filled.
Lily’s ICU socks.
We had never planned that.
Rachel remembered.
At the end of the ceremony, I stood before a wall covered in messages from families.
CALL BACK.
SHOW UP.
SAY IT NOW.
DON’T WAIT.
One card simply said.
ANSWER.
I touched it.
For months, I counted David’s fifty missed calls.
Then I stopped.
Numbers were not where Lily lived.
She lived in pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse.
In crooked drawings.
In purple socks.
In the sound of seven-year-old laughter coming down a hallway.
In the stuffed rabbit that now sat on my bookshelf.
In every family Lily’s Line helped get to a hospital before time ran out.
That evening, I received a letter forwarded from David.
I considered leaving it unopened.
Then I read.
Maya.
Today would have been Lily’s ninth birthday.
I remembered.
I listened to her voicemail once.
I will not listen again because I think I was using her voice to punish myself instead of remembering her.
You once told me grief does not make a person good.
You were right.
I am trying to become better without asking grief to do the work for me.
I do not expect an answer.
Tell no one I deserve forgiveness.
I don’t.
But if Lily’s foundation ever needs the money recovered from my remaining assets, take it.
It was hers before I stole it anyway.
David.
I folded the letter.
For the first time, I did not feel anger.
I did not feel love.
I felt distance.
Healthy distance.
I placed the letter in a drawer.
Then I went downstairs because people were waiting for me.
May you like
Living people.
Life had become louder again.
