On Losing Lilly

Life is not fair, or reasonable and much of it makes no sense. Saturday we lost Lilly, this bright, creative, Viking warrior artist. It is unimaginable, and unbearable. A perfect day on the bright, crisp winter ocean with her father, a dinner with family friends and Norse poetry, one minute painting her brother's Christmas picture, the next, gone. With no clear reasons yet why she was taken suddenly, today I will tell you about Lilly and her family while we wait; for answers, and for the daily things to happen that will fill the yawning chasm of time and space she used to fill so completely.

I have known Zella, my sister-friend since I was 17, Richard since I was 19 and Lilly and her wonderful brother Morgun always. From the colic to the giggles, to playing with slugs (hey they are creatures too) on Bowen Island to a fascination with the Aquarium and all things living, Lilly deeply lived with a connection to land and sea, and the peace and sustenance both could offer. To forage, she forged her own knives. To fish, she crafted her own lines. To live, she followed her own path. Not one always easy for a parent, the labels applied could include "train kid" when she spent two years traversing North America with her rescue puppy Vader; she lived many places where she was known to reclaim unused yards and turn them into gardens with shared bounty; a sailor living on her own boat and navigating the islands of the west coast, finding artists' communities to call home, collecting friends at every stage of her journey.

Lilly never understood "stuff" beyond having the basics you need to live. For her this included paints and sketch books, a mandolin, enough clothes to stay warm, and enough food to survive without waste. Never afraid of hard work she has wrestled mistletoe at nurseries, farmed on land and in the sea, milled grains to make bread, crafted traditional Easter loaves complete with tiny bread birds and has filled all our homes with stunning artwork. Most recently she was working with Richard, learning welding from this master, and sorting through the boxes of memories that make a home with her mother, shared laughter and meals, walks and puppies, and time to reconnect. A painter, sculptor, sewer, gardener, gatherer, jewelry maker, she was always collecting interesting pieces of nature - treasures from the sea, greens and mushrooms, beach glass, rocks, bones, wood - to make into something beautifully unexpected or delicious. 

With our kids we have spent nearly every New Year's Eve in Sechelt, which means every year we have had Nicholas's birthday here, and almost every birthday cake of his life Lilly has crafted. The unique stockings we, and quite a few other friends use each Christmas were created by her and as I sit quietly in the early dawn there are some on this mantel now. The art she has been creating since she was a small child is on every wall, and the decorations she put up this year to welcome the season surround us.

Any parent with children of a certain age (teenagers) knows the feeling of your child arriving home and leaving a trail of their stuff from door to destination, and the mild annoyance they have taken over your space so completely making it their own as you pick up this and that, tidying and perhaps, muttering about the "mess". To think that Lilly will never again come in the front door and leave this trail that so clearly states, "I am home and here to stay for as long as it's convenient for me" is unfathomable.

There is nobody who lived life more completely as their own, on their own terms and always without harm to others. There are many lessons in this for the rest of us if we choose to take them. Always respectful of individuals and animals, bending the rules that didn't clearly make sense and creating a life that made sense for her, this was our Lilly.

Take care Lilly, we know you are watching over us, probably knitting something with your namesake grandmother right now while you cook up your next adventure.