Leilani is gone.

 

I had just sent Leilani this message on the 17th. I never received a response. I figured that life kept people busy, so I didn't think about it too much. I had no idea she had died three days before. She never received it. I only learned about this a few hours ago, when her sister texted my father. Initially, I thought it was her fiancé. Later, I found out he didn’t have access to her phone — only her sister did.

I wrote the following to honor her:

From my book series, Operating Without a Manual:

Phase IV — Chapter 2/2

“My mom’s friends — Leilani and Mary.

Women who loved her and didn’t disappear after she was gone.

That meant more than they know.”

Leilani now rests in a place already written into my story.

Her name lives in my book because her presence lived in my life.

She was in my story and in my life.

She showed me comfort during my time of loss — her friend, my mother.

On the very morning my mother passed, Leilani had spent time with her at the thrift store.

She later shared with me the events I would not have known about my mom. I am grateful to hear that my mother was happy, wandering Blessings thrift store with her best friend. I hold onto that image.

My father and I were not in good shape then, and we are still barely making it together.

But we were fortunate to still have Leilani in our lives after my mom passed.

She did not leave us during that time.

She stayed.

She lifted us.

She helped us with a vehicle when we need one.

The night before, my father prayed for a vehicle.

The next morning, Leilani gave us hers.

She said my mom had visited her in a dream the night before and told her to give it to us — that we needed it.

And we really did.

She told me not to be sad and to know that my mother was well, and that she no longer knew pain, grief, or illness from this place. She said not to hold onto the loss because I was keeping my mother from moving forward.

I’m not sure how much I believe all of that — maybe some of it, and maybe part of it I don’t — but Leilani believed it.

What I do believe is that my mother now knows no more pain, no more sadness, no more illness, and no more death. And just as my mother is now free of these things, so is Leilani.

She is the flower in heaven from which she is named — Leilani.

I had the honor of being cameraman for both my mom and her enjoying life and having fun. I had front row to all their performances, whether it was hula, belly dance, ukulele — everything.

I was fortunate to be the person she once came to for help with her phone, and just to have crossed paths with her in life, because she was a beautiful person.

She was grateful for anything anyone did for her and had no hesitation to reach out and give what she could to help others.

May God grant her entry into His kingdom and watch over her family, friends, and loved ones while we are still here, in hope of being reunited one day — with her and with my mother.

My mother now has her hula and ukulele buddy with her.

That is what stands out to me.

They are together, continuing their fun.

Their adventure continues.

Before my mom passed — abruptly and unexpectedly — she told me that Leilani had such a beautiful, loving heart and that she was proud to have her as a friend and sister.

These two really made the best of their lives while here.

And I know it completely and utterly hurts to not have them.

They now dwell where God wipes away every tear,

where there will be no more death

or mourning

or crying

or pain,

for the old order of things has passed away.

(Revelation 21:4, NIV)

Their lives were a witness.

Their love was a gift.

And their rest is in Him.

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