Where trouble melts like lemondrops…

It still isn’t fair.

This weekend has been one of the most bizarre and sad ones I’ve ever been through. If you’ll scroll down to my last post, you’ll know that my cousin, Kimberly, died on Tuesday after a car wreck while on her way to her capping ceremony for high school graduation. Just 18. Beautiful. Happy. It just wasn’t fair. It still isn’t.

On Friday, our family all gathered in Eden to pay our last respects. To say it was a sad day is an understatement. As I admitted earlier, I lost touch with Kimberly for a long time. After thinking about her all weekend, I can see I am going to regret that — much the same way I regret not making my grandpa teach me how to make pottery or saying thank you to my grandma for those countless pieces of barbecued chicken and chocolate gravy.

Kimberly’s life was obviously felt all over Eden, a town a little smaller than Sanford. The church was filled on Friday, as was a spillover room where the service was broadcast via closed-circuit TV. All her female classmates wore high heels to the service in her honor. Her mother, Robin, and father, Ricky, stayed strong throughout the day and showed a resolve I know I could never muster. There were even a few laughs along the way as people shared their favorite memories of her life.

The service was beautiful. Kimberly was in the choir at school, and the ensemble opened the service beautifully with “Somewhere over the Rainbow,” after which there was not a dry eye in the room. A perfect tribute.

Then at the graveside service, the most amazing thing happened. The preacher asked everyone to bow their heads for the final prayer of the day, and as I looked down, just before I shut my eyes, something caught my eye. It was a four-leaf clover. And it was the only clover in my immediate area, like it had been put there specifically for me to find.

It was eerie and comforting at the same time. I picked it, and after the service I took it up and placed it next to Kimberly (she had been cremated). My uncle told me later that they put it in the ground with her. I’m not really sure what finding it meant. Maybe Kimberly is looking out for us now?

So as a last tribute to Kim, here is my favorite version of that song. I love you Kim, and I wish I had been there for more of your life.