An open letter to the person or persons who took my wreaths.
Shame on you.
The pain of losing a loved one is something each of us experience at some point in our lives.
The acceptance of a loss is sometimes out of reach, but in time we learn to cope.
I lost my husband – he was 36 years young – and our beloved daughter, who was 26, in two different horrific car accidents, and both are buried at Victory Memorial on King George Boulevard.
The first time a person or persons took both wreaths that I had made up with thoughtful, loving care – always trying to capture the deep love we shared as a family – it brought up the pain of losing, so real again. I chose to let it go, as in some strange way I could hear our beloved daughter – who was a florist and who always looked for the good in people – say, “It’s OK, Mom, they are only wreaths.”
They can take away the material things of life but never the cherished memories we created or the love we shared.
The accident that robbed me of the greatest gift I will ever receive, my daughter, happened a number of years ago, a few days after spending Christmas with my only sister, whom I lost in the same accident.
I would like to think you took the wreaths again because they were lovely and, you could tell, made from love. My daughter’s was done in bronze musical notes, matching ribbon entwined throughout the wreath and as always, an angel.
But if you took them for any other reason, double shame on you. I do not feel sorry for you. I only feel pity because, like a bully picks on the weak, you have sunk to an all-time low to take from a cemetery.
I am a firm believer in karma, and someday – I am not looking for revenge – you might find the pain in losing someone and haunt you at some point in your low life existence.
On behalf of my husband and beloved daughter.
J. Miller, Surrey