Easter Lilies and Justice
by Elouise
This story still makes me teary. As a nation, we haven’t figured out how to ensure justice for today’s children. Easter offers an opportunity to ponder this tragedy and ask ourselves what we’re doing on behalf of our children. All of them. Diane is Sister #3 in our family. She was born on Easter Sunday in 1949, and died of ALS in February 2006.
Dear Diane,
Easter Sunday always reminds me of you. Not just because you were born on Easter Sunday in 1949, but because the Easter lilies at church always take me back to your funeral service and heaps of Easter lilies around the casket at the front of the church.
Today was no different. I walked in, saw the Easter lilies and tulips, and dissolved into tears as we sang the first hymn. It all came flooding back, along with a story Dad told me when he was in hospice care.
The story was about you and his flower garden in our back yard. Maybe you remember it. That was when we lived on the river. The flower garden had tons of flowers, including Easter lilies and Dianthus, all planted by Dad. He used to say the Dianthus were there because they reminded him of you.
One day Dad noticed that some of his special Easter lilies were missing from his flower garden. When he went back into the house he found them–in flower vases and glass jars here and there!
It didn’t take long to find out you had done this dastardly deed. He said you listened quietly without tears. Then as you turned to walk away you asked, “Where are the flowers for the children?” Cut him to the quick, he said. And I have to admit, he had tears in his eyes as he told the story.
Do you remember that square patch of flowers near the rear of the back yard? It wasn’t very large. Maybe 5 feet wide. It had posts with twine supports for some of the flowers. Most were bright zinnias.
Dad told me, with tears in his eyes, that he planted that flower garden just for the children. We could pick them anytime, as many as we wished. All because you had the guts to ask the most important question of all. “Where are the flowers for the children?”
Today I wonder the same thing. Sadly, we’ve gone downhill when it comes to things for the children. Flowers for the children tend to show up after children or teenagers are killed with guns. Survivors are asking all of us so-called grownups, “Where are the safe places for the children?”
That’s another subject, except for this: It takes guts to stand up and fight for the rights of children and young people. I’m rooting for the children and young people.
Love and hugs, plus Happy Easter and Happy April Birthday—not that you’re counting anymore!
Elouise♥
©Elouise Renich Fraser, 1 April 2018, adapted from an earlier post, reposted 2 April 2021
Photo credit: wallpapersup.net (Easter Lilies); robsplants.com (Dianthus)
Telling the Truth 
I join you in rooting for the young to better this world with so much hate as we are seeing on a daily basis.
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Thank you, Don. I often wonder what happened to childhood, and whether there’s a way of turning this sad state of affairs around.
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I have always worked with, fought for, and rooted for children and their rights.
So I continue with you in this MOST important effort! 🙂
What a beautiful letter to your sister Diane! What a heart-touching story of her interaction with your Dad! Yes, it brought tears to my eyes.
One of my many fave jobs was at a Sheltered Care Home for children. It was my job while I was in college. We took care of abused, abandoned, and neglected children until the courts could decide their futures. Children from 2 days old all the way up to 18 years old.
(((HUGS)))
🐰 🌷 🐣 🕆 🐇 💐
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What a wonderful opportunity for the children you worked with! Not easy, I’m sure.
As for Diane, she was probably the only one of us (4 daughters) who could get away with this! 😊 Dad wasn’t known for accepting our take on things. 😟
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I’m so glad she DID get away with it and you share her with us…she encourages and inspires me!
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Your posts over time have painted a picture of your father as a stern and old fashioned misanthrope. But this was tells of a depth and understanding that some men try to hide. I know.
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Hi, John.
In some ways, my father was highly emotional. Free with his tears though virtually all were for himself, and not without reason. With Diane, it was different. He discovered her polio (I was in the room with them) when she was 6 months old, and faithfully took her to therapy sessions after our mother was hospitalized two weeks later with polio. Diane was his female ‘tomboy’ when it came to helping him with work in the garden, or on our old car. She loved it, of course (no housecleaning for her!).
Nonetheless, I agree with your comment about men generally. It’s a sad truth about too many men. It takes a lot of effort to hide deep feelings.
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