You know that my sister’s friend died recently, as a result of a brain tumour. Here is a true story recounted by a man who knew Orishia well. I asked his permission to reprint his email because it’s the kind of story that gives us hope — and helps us believe — that although we appear to lose people we love, they aren’t really lost at all, but are still with us.

Here is Douglas’s story:

Orishia’s Daisies

Orishia joked 10 years ago that when she died, she wanted me to do her hair. Little did I know that this would turn out to be a reality. She passed away on December 29, 2003 at 39 years of age. This painting of daisies popped up on my computer three days after Orishia's funeral on Saturday, January 3.

Back to work after that emotionally exhausting weekend, I was discussing the aftermath with a dear friend of Orishia’s. Laurie told me a story that came from Orishia's mother after her daughter’s death. She had been ice-skating with Orishia's four-year-old, Nikolas, and commented, "Oh, Nikolas! Your mommy would be so proud of you, because you skated so well."

His reply was, "Well, that's because Mommy was holding me up!"

I could not get that out of my mind the entire day. Orishia wanted nothing more intently than to be there for and to raise her two babies, Nikolas and Josif.

I came home after a long day at work and my routine was usual: feed the cat, turn on the light, take off my coat (in that demanded order!), and I eventually went to check my email. My mailbox was cluttered; I responded to and deleted several emails. In doing so, I came across one that I had written just after Orishia died. It described briefly my feelings for her. I couldn't delete it just yet — wasn't ready — so I saved it and savoured it. I simply reread it and thought dearly of Orishia while listening to The Prayer, a beautiful piece of music.

As I read and listened, I was overwhelmed with a sense of peace and calm. Though I had some time with Orishia while I did her hair for the funeral, I felt her presence even more so in these few moments at my computer. I thought about her holding Nikolas up while he was skating. I thanked her for everything that I had learned from her during the 14 years that I have known and worked with her. I thanked her for blessing my life and enriching it. I cried and laughed while I relived several moments over again in my mind.

Then I noticed a minimized window at the bottom of the tool bar. I hadn't opened it or brought it up at all. I was curious, so I clicked on it. It maximized to a blank, white window, without text of any kind whatsoever. This is what appeared, nothing else — except a painting of daisies. I kept waiting for text to appear. Maybe it was a Claritin advertisement, I thought.

It wasn't until I told Laurie about it the next morning that I learned what was printed in the funeral program, for I hadn’t gotten one. Laurie immediately quoted the last phrase at the bottom of the program:

"Remember me whenever you see a daisy; that's me telling you that I'm there with you."

I will always think of Orishia when I see a daisy, her favourite flower. She was married with daisies and buried with them. At her funeral, family members filled her casket with bouquets of daisies that each of them gently placed around her.

Some people will think I've gone bonkers, but I know that this was Orishia's way of letting me, and all of us, know that she IS indeed here, bright as a daisy, and ever present in our lives and in the lives of her children.

Sincerely,
Douglas Armo Bean

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