Grief feels so lonely. However, thanks to all the beautiful understanding since the Nov. 6 death of my daughter, I can truly say I do not feel alone.
In November of 2000, I sat in a large, crowded judge’s conference room and felt my insides quiver as I heard the banging of her gavel. It was National Adoption month, and I was part of group ceremony to finalize the adoption of our newest family member.
Lauren was 2, shy, but curious. When we met that fateful June day in the dusty offices of Miami Our Kids offices, she was carried on the hip of her social worker. Having been previously told that she liked corn chips, I brought along a bag. She happily took them. She wouldn’t share.
We’ve had 22 beautiful years together. I would not change a thing. That awful night, the last night I saw her, she was dressed in her sexy going out clothes. She gave me her quick smile and I said, “You look beautiful, baby. Be careful.”
To which she smiled and said, “Oh, mother!” A favorite refrain. But I told her I loved her and she said it back. I’ll have that forever. For now, I have all of you. And I am grateful.
Later this evening, I will post specific details for her Orlando memorial. I can tell you that we will hold a gathering of friends and loved one’s to say goodbye on Sunday, Nov. 21, from 5 to 7 pm. It will not be a religious service, which is something I’m doing with family on a more private basis.
With friends, especially her friends, we are going to gather, share stories, listen to some of her favorite music and rejoice in our shared experience of knowing and loving such a special young woman.
More to come no later than tomorrow morning. Kindness is everywhere. If you have it, share it; if you need it, fill your cup.