Lily's Smile

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!” the voice of my three year old sister had echoed as the scampering of her immature feet had scurried from room to room in her search for me. “Sammy!” She’d cried triumphantly, rounding the corner into my bedroom where I’d sat tediously laboring over my mountain of homework. I had immediately been knocked over backwards the by surprising force of Lily’s small frame running bluntly into me. Wrapping her arms around my head awkwardly she’d frantically clung to me, refusing the let go despite my struggles.
“Protect me, Sammy! He’s trying to get me!” she’d shriek with more delight than terror hinted in her voice. Then, with all the mock seriousness she could muster, while attempting to suppress her squeals of excitement, she’d declared; “he’s trying to tickle me.”
Then Lily’s eyes had suddenly locked upon an unknown object over my shoulder. Almost immediately, ear shattering screams mixed among her continuous giggles had erupted from my sister’s mouth. Logan had entered the room.
The battle which had ensued consisted of me and my twelve year old brother Logan each receiving multiple elbows and knees to the head as Lily had tried desperately to escape the torturous fingers of her brother. My mother, hearing our laughter had come into the room to investigate. With just one glance at the tangled mess that was Lily, Logan and me on the floor, my mother had immediately gone for her precious camera. I swear, if my mother were to establish one main goal in life, it would be to documenting every happy memory in life with pictures.
Our battle continued for nearly half an hour. But finally the tickling, kicking, pillow fighting and the occasional flashing of a camera subsided. Logan and I had lain sprawled across my floor, Lily draped across the two of us, worn out but content.
*****
But that was nearly a week ago. I now stood glazy eyed, staring at those happy pictures on the collage board my mother had made last night. It’s a wonder I didn’t burst into tears once again at the sight of Lily’s bright, happy face shining in every picture. Then again, I’d probably drained my eyes of a lifetime of tears over the past three days; I don’t know how I would every be able to cry again.
So instead, I gazed at the scattered pictures, trying to figure out which picture of Lily was my favorite. I couldn’t decide; although I had managed to narrow it down to three. Not that it mattered; she was so pretty and photogenic in all of them, she always had been. And full of life too, never was there a dull moment with Lily around, and we had plenty of pictures to prove it.
I’d been staring at those pictures for nearly an hour, as if willing those memories to overtake me once again and drown out the hopeless, empty pain I’d been feeling for the last three days. What I wouldn’t give to just, have one more chance to save her from Logan, or to have one more pillow fight; hell, I’d even take a few kicks to the face with a smile. Nothing could be worse than this.
How could this happen to our family? How could this happen to her? I’d give the world just to see her face, again, her eyes full of life; just to hear that sweet high pitch voice or her adorable little laugh. I never knew anything could hurt this badly; to the point of near numbness where all you want to do is run away and never come back. When every time you raise your eyes to acknowledge someone or open your mouth to utter a greeting, your throat chokes up and your eyes threaten to brim with tears once again.
You grow up knowing that eventually, everyone dies. As you get older you come to except it as a part of life. Sure, you watch sadly as you’re great-grandparents die, your grandparents as well; but you come understand that it was their time to go. But it wasn’t Lily’s time. It couldn’t have been. She was only three years old. Three years old! How the hell could you ever justify the death of a child as it “being her time.” Her time hadn’t even begun.
The wake and the funeral are meant to allow a family to say goodbye to their loved one and begin the healing process of letting go. But I find myself holding on stronger than ever. She was my Lily, how can I just watch her be buried into the cold ground, confined to that small, delicate coffin. I don’t think I can remember her ever standing still, she was always prancing about or at least fidgeting; but now she’s motionless forever. She can’t skip, she can’t run. She’ll just lay eerily still in that coffin for eternity. It’s not fair.
Above the pictures was a heading, “Lily and Her Two Heroes.” I could only assume that was referring to me and Logan. Lily had always called Logan and I her superheroes, mostly because she loved playing the damsel in distress. She always knew one of us would come to her rescue, if she only screamed loud enough. She idolized us, and I’d always dreamed of living up to that great responsibility. I wanted to be her role model; I wanted her to look to me for advice, whether it's on help with homework, or help with boys, anything. But now we’d never get that chance. I couldn’t save her this time, some superhero I turned out to be.
But when I think of it, it wasn’t me who’d been the true hero; it was Lily. Lily was my hero, and she always will be. Sure I was older and she always looked to me, mimicking whatever I said or did. But she was my hero. She could always make me smile, make me laugh. Her enthusiastic nature was contagious; she brought excitement back into our house. She was the center of my entire universe and I loved her. I still love her.