Remembering Liz

I boarded the Virgin flight without knowing that she was working it, as I look back I can’t remember why I didn’t know because she was flying full time - and I was leaving SFO on a Virgin flight…but there I was, boarding, and I heard a familiar voice and looked up and it was Liz. She took great care of me on this flight, and I remember feeling so proud of her.

Many months before this I attended her Virgin America graduation, it was a really big deal.

“The Twins” were born when I was twelve, and from twelve until eighteen I was a big sister mama to them. My sister Val and I slept with a twin in each of our rooms; Liz was in my room and it wasn’t until she passed that Val reminded me of this…when we were talking about her being my favorite.

“Of course she was your favorite, she slept with you when we were little…”

It’s hard to have favorites in a family, and I’ve shared this before, but when I told Liz she was my favorite she simply replied, “I know, I’m everyone’s favorite,” and it was true, she was.

The last three years I have put so much pressure on myself leading up to August 21st to write something profound and beautiful and “perfect” to honor her on the day she left us - this morning I sat in one of my favorite churches in Paris and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed because it feels too big to write this year.

She was bigger than anything I could share here.

How do I possibly put into words the ache that I feel in this human missing? Grief is for the living, and it is an exquisite human experience: on the one hand I feel her closer than ever in every ray of sunlight, feather, goosebump and burst of love…and on the other hand I feel her so far away as I struggle to remember the sound of her voice, the things she loved, the way she moved…and as I continue to witness and love her baby who looks just like she did when I was twelve.

The truth is the grief never goes away.

And part of me never wants it to go away, it feels like an embodiment of the testament of the capacity that we have to love, it is beyond this body, a holy ache, bigger than any words…

Thank you, Liz. Thank you for teaching me what this love feels like.

Late one night after a long day of flying Liz returned home, I had put her baby to sleep hours before this. This was one of the many tender days of being there for her as she and her baby transitioned away from each other. I suspect like many mamas she returned to work before she was ready, and she missed her baby incredibly - and her baby missed her. (Being with this baby for her first-ever bottle was a heartache I will never forget, and their bond was a gift I feel incredibly blessed to have witnessed.)

She told me a story that night that I will never forget.

She was in-flight, assigned to first class, and she told me that a woman was really rude to her. Liz had been in the bathroom for several minutes and this woman needed something. When Liz came out of the bathroom the woman yelled at her accusing her of being in the bathroom putting her make-up on for too long, and she threatened to report her for not being attentive enough.

Incredibly composed, Liz looked at the woman and told her that she was sorry, and she explained to the woman that it was her first week back from pregnancy leave and that she was in the bathroom pumping milk for her baby.

Silent tears streamed down Liz’s face as she shared the story with me that night…and I could imagine how it felt to feel her in this exact moment as she shared this with the woman.

The woman started crying, and told Liz she had babies of her own, and apologized for her impatience. It was a moment of love rushing in, and one that I could feel Liz felt fully - and this woman too.

I know this story lives in the life of this woman, a story like this touches you forever.

My sister touched all of us in ways that we will never forget, beyond the ways that a sister, and daughter and mother and wife does, she was extraordinary…

We have not forgotten you Liz, you live on in the hearts of every single person whose life yours touched.