That quote was a tweet from TAPS4America yesterday. I've been struggling with how to resume blogging here, battling the "what does it matter?" blues. But that quote made me think: if I don't speak about Emily's funeral here on the blog, then I won't be able to keep writing here at all. And I want to keep in honest communication with you. So . . .
a few things I have words for:
Emily was buried with treasures she loved, including a purple hot wheels car, both halves of an "I love you/I love you more" necklace, and a tattered copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
My brother ended his eulogy with this laugh-inducing tribute: when the rest of us get to heaven, Emily will greet us with a brilliant smile and sing out: "Hi, peeps! It's Emily! Heaven is so coolio!"
This was my son's first funeral. We sat together and talked about life and death and love. Emily made that conversation possible, her first of many blessings to me after her passing.
Flying Horse Farms, a "magical, transforming and fun" camp for kids with serious illnesses, will open for family campers next fall. Emily and her dad were scheduled to speak at the groundbreaking ceremony, but Emily was too weak to go, and my brother tried to stay home with her. Emily would have none of it. She insisted that he attend, and he shared her words with those gathered: "Dad, there is no best part of camp. It's ALL good."
Then, on their last drive from the hospital in Cinncinnati to her home in Cleveland, my brother pulled over the car at the groundbreaking site. Again, Emily was too weak to leave the car. But she saw where the camp would be, just as she saw how the world could be different, a world without childhood cancer, and worked to make that world come to life, just like the magic in her beloved books.
Above one of the stalls in the Flying Horse Farms stable will be the name of Emily Lewis.
Kids can change the world. Emily did. She still is.
Thank you for listening.