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As I stand here looking at the wreaths and bouquets on her grave, all dead and lifeless, I remember how very different she was from them. Full of life and energy, there wasn’t one person she knew, who wouldn’t light up at the sound of her laughter. Sometimes I think God takes away too many of the good people who bring joy to this world.

Her laughter was silenced much before she could bring joy to the many depressed souls of this world. At a young age Lizanne had already shown signs of physical weakness. She wasn’t as active as her peers. But she was the happiest of them. She had a light in her eyes that no sorrow or suffering could put out.

She was the pride of her parents and for her they could do no wrong. Even though they spoiled her rotten, she never was a spoilt brat. She was always gracious and gentle with other people and loved to help them.

We had grown up as best friends and when she moved away, our neighborhood seemed empty to me. We kept in touch through emails and letters. She never told me about her illness, but I could sense she was different in some ways, when we spoke on the phone after her diagnosis. She seemed weak and the usual cheeriness in her voice seemed subdued.

She had been diagnosed with a disease, I do not recall the name, wherein her organs slowly weakened and eventually shut down. Despite her state, she never let any signs of pain or weakness show. She still had the same light in her eyes and the same cheerful laugh. Very few people could sense something was wrong. I was one of them.

About two months after our last phone, call I got an email, this time from her husband. He said she was too weak to write but wanted me to know that she was okay and that she missed me.

I knew I had to meet her.

She had met her husband in college, two months before she moved away. They fell so deeply in love, they decided to get married just two months after they met. Her husband always says that he was the luckiest man to get to share even a short time with her. Her was the most beautiful I have ever been to, and as she stood before us in her beautiful white gown, arm wrapped around his, her joyful radiance was contagious.

As I sat on my plane to New York, the memories of our childhood came to mind. The years we spent by the lakeside sharing our dreams and aspirations. She wanted to be a doctor, a pediatrician to be exact, because she loved children and could not bare to see them in pain. I believe her cheerfulness could cure any illness a child could have.

As I entered the hospital room she smiled. In that smile I saw a lot of her pain but very little happiness. She was worn and frail; a mere shadow of herself .I could see she wouldn’t last much longer.

I can still remember the day she died. At first I sat and watched as the doctors gave her husband their prognosis. His face showed how much he loved her. One by one all her organs had failed, now only her brain and heart were functioning. They wouldn’t much longer. He walked over to her and hugged her, and said he loved her. She muttered something and laughed. That was the last time I heard that laugh.

As I stand here at her grave I think of her death and her life. Too painful to remember, impossible to forget.