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Week 123: The Ways You sneak In To Everyday Moments




Grief has a funny way of showing up—not always loudly, but in quiet, unexpected moments. Sometimes it sneaks in when the house is still, or when a flower blooms just right, or when you forget—just for a second—that life has changed. This week was eventful, but as always you found little ways to sneak in to a few of those moments, and I welcomed every single one.

The Flashback

For the first time in a long time, I had a flashback that didn’t feel like looking back. It happened in the present moment, like you were still here. I don’t think I’ve experienced that before.

We had some friends over one night, and around 11 p.m., we walked them to the door to say our goodbyes. As soon as we closed the door behind them, my first thought was, thank God you stayed asleep! I felt that familiar rush of relief that we hadn’t woken you up—before reality caught up and reminded me that this isn’t something I need to worry about anymore.

But instead of hurting, it brought me back to those nights when we did have people over—and how much you absolutely hated it. You’d go to bed but pop out every few minutes like a tiny, grumpy bouncer demanding our guests go home. After the fifth or sixth warning, they’d finally leave. You were always the victor in these guest wars! You were fierce about protecting our routine, and once the coast was clear, your little smile would return and you’d settle into bed like peace had been restored to your kingdom. Queen Elizabeth that is what we would call you when you got that way - your given name not your more lovable lil nickname. You could be so stubborn, my darling daughter.

And no, it didn’t pain me at all. In fact, I came across this quote that summed up perfectly how I felt:

“Some say you are too painful to remember. I say you are too precious to forget.”

That moment—when I forgot for a second that you were gone—was actually a gift. I felt the relief in my body like you really were just down the hall, sleeping. It lasted only a second, but it was precious.

The Memorial

We also went to a memorial this week—the first one I’ve been to since yours and (my) dad’s memorials just a year apart. I was so numb back then, and this one hit with unexpected emotion. As soon as I saw my friend and her daughter we hugged and they both told me how sorry they were to hear about your passing, Lil—and I of course felt the same way about their husband/father, and for a few moments it brought everything rushing back. I hadn’t seen them since before you died, and there you were, sneaking in again.

But what really got me? Dave—the man we were there to remember—died on your birthday last year. You know I do believe in coincidences. Strange, isn’t it? I’m still sitting with that one. The service was beautiful—very “Dave”—and afterward, Dad and I had a lovely drive home. Peaceful, reflective.

The Anniversary

Then came another big milestone: our 30th anniversary. Thirty years! We spent the day in San Francisco, had lunch by the ocean, and walked through Golden Gate Park. It was one of those breathtaking spring days—sunny, breezy, and everything in bloom. And of course, there were lilies everywhere.

Lilies always remind me of you just because you were our lily. And they were blooming in full force on this spring day bringing you to mind :

• Purity – Their soft white petals feel like a reflection of your spirit: innocent, pure, and filled with strength.

• Beauty – their elegance and strength reminds me of how beautifully strong and elegant you were. It also reminds me to find joy in the simple things, the small wonders like you did, like you were.

• Mystery – Their unique shape and presence feel almost magical. Like you, they have always held something otherworldly.

So yes, you snuck in this week. But then again, when don’t you?

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Memories of You Sneak In

Grief doesn’t always knock us over like a wave. Sometimes it’s a whisper, a flower, a feeling that someone’s just down the hall. And those are the moments that remind me she’s still here—in memory, in presence, in love.

This is the way grief rolls. In my blog post Week 121 (see link below)

https://lifeafterlil.blogspot.com/2025/03/week-121-grief-and-everyday-life-little.html?m=1#:~:text=Week,-121:%20Grief%20and

I am hurt, lost and avoiding my feelings and memories that you are no longer with us - at the dinner table for example - and this week I am in a place of gratitude for the memories. This must be why it feels like a roller coaster a lot of the times.

Have you ever had a moment where grief quietly snuck up on you—in a way that felt more like love than loss? I’d be honored if you shared it in the comments. Sometimes, our stories are what help others feel less alone.

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