I was numb as I sat in the
chair between my husband and my father. I could hear the funeral director
talking...I could see his lips moving, but nothing was registering in my mind.
Even breathing was difficult. In
the past twenty-four hours, life as we knew it had ceased to exist. Our
oldest daughter, twenty-year-old Elizabeth, had died of smoke inhalation from a
fire in her duplex just a few blocks from the University of Minnesota, where
she had just begun her sophomore year. Two of her roommates also died with her.
How can this be? Liz is
gone? It just can’t be true. How can I go on without my precious first-born
daughter? I had so many emotions running through my mind and I couldn’t deal
with any of them. I was too shocked even to cry.
Question after question had
to be answered. What is her birth date? Where was she born? What year did she
graduate from high school? I answered each question without any thought, more
like a robot than a mother. It was instinctual – it was rote – it felt void of
Part of me -- no, all of me
-- wanted to scream and run out of the room, go home and find my beautiful,
precious Elizabeth, safe in her room. She would look at me with that coy smile
of hers and say, “Oh Mom, you just worry way too much! Nothing is going to
happen to me! I’m just fine!”
Why couldn’t this be a
horrible nightmare, or some cruel joke? Please God, please. But, No … this was
real, and I had to sit and question-by-question try to acknowledge what I just
couldn’t believe was my new reality.
Sorrow and Pain
When the funeral director left the room
for a few minutes, the silence was overwhelming. We each sat like statues,
staring into space blankly. Conversation was impossible. The silence in the
room was deafening. Each of us was trying so hard to keep it together, but it
was an impossible task. My husband put his head in his hands and sobbed. Then
he got up and said, “I’ve got to get some air.” We barely acknowledged him, as
my Dad and I continued to sit in stunned silence with tears streaming down our
The funeral director
returned and gently told us that we would need to bring in clothing for Liz to
be buried in. There was no hurry he said, but in the next day or two. As his
words began to slowly sink in, I mentally scanned Liz’s closet – and it
was empty. There was nothing left – she had taken everything with her when she
moved into that duplex just three weeks ago.
Unexpected Shopping Trip
The harsh reality was that I
would have to go out and buy Liz an outfit to be buried in – one last,
final new outfit. She always loved to shop and she loved new clothes, so it
seemed fitting that a new outfit was needed for this occasion as well. But how
could I shop without her? We never agreed on clothing, and now in this
difficult, painful state of mind I had to pick out her final new outfit?!
My sister drove me to the
mall – I knew I would go to a store where Liz used to work, as she had
always liked the clothes there. As I pulled open the door and stepped inside I
whispered, “Liz, you have got to help me here! I have absolutely no idea what
I slowly walked around and
began to peruse the racks. It didn’t take very long before I found a
pair of khaki pants and a light blue sweater. I showed my sister and said, “I
don’t know if this is what Liz would want, but even if I don’t get this right,
does it really matter?”
after the funeral my sister-in-law came to visit. We sat in my kitchen drinking
coffee and talking. The grim reality that Elizabeth was gone had begun to sink
“I was going through
pictures last night," Karen told me, "and I found one of Liz
taken last Christmas. I thought you might want to see it." She reached into her purse and
pulled out a picture, and laid it on the table in front of me.
There she was – my
Elizabeth, smiling and happy sitting with her cousins. But ... suddenly my
breath caught in my throat and I couldn’t speak – for you see -- Liz was
wearing … a pair of khaki pants
and a light blue sweater.
(See attached photo of Elizabeth sitting with her cousins, wearing the khaki pants and light blue sweater)!