Back in 1953 her family anxiously awaited her arrival—hers and that of her twin brother.  Of course, in 1953 there was no way of knowing they would be a girl and a boy.  The technology didn’t exist that allows such common knowledge today.  Times were very different and, in this instance, the parents would be as surprised as everyone else.

Their births on October 8 ^th were met with excitement and joy, both of which were short-lived, as was Jean Lillian.  Her brother survived, but she died the next day without her mother ever even holding her.  As I said, times were very different then; the common thought in the medical profession was that bonding should not be allowed—much less encouraged—since the child would never be going home with the parents.  It would be easier that way.  They didn’t realize that a mother and a father will hold that child in their hearts forever, whether or not they are allowed to hold them in their arms.

Their home was in Grand Prairie, Texas at the time, and she was buried in a cemetery there, but a year later the family moved to Tennessee, leaving Jean Lillian and a piece of their hearts in Texas.  Over the years her mother would talk about her baby, the child she had to leave behind.  The pain of that separation was obvious to her three remaining children, and together they decided Jean Lillian needed to be with her family, to rest beside them in death since she was never allowed to join them in life.  Their father had already died, and when their mother’s health began to decline, they realized the time had come.

As nice as Texas may be, things are not always as simple there as one might hope.  There was paperwork and red tape and governmental officials who had no allowance for older people who were trying to navigate through such . . . officials who got in absolutely no hurry to process the aforementioned paperwork.  She died with her family’s promise that Jean Lillian would join her here, but also knowing that mission had not yet been accomplished.

For a whole host of reasons, it took two years before the stars aligned and everything was in place.  As luck would have it, Jean Lillian’s sister and her husband were traveling and could go to Grand Prairie as a part of their trip.  The funeral director in Tennessee made the necessary arrangements with the funeral director in Texas, and the funeral director in Texas made the necessary arrangements with the cemetery.  He documented the process so Jean Lillian’s family could be there, even if only through the pictures he provided.  What remained of her remains were carefully casketed and given to her sister, as was the monument that had marked her grave for 64 years.  And so began her journey.

On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, the Bellis family gathered around a child-sized grave and watched as her casket was gently committed to the earth.  They sang and they prayed, they grieved and they rejoiced, for their sister . . . their aunt . . . their cousin now rested beside her parents, and their family was once again reunited.  Even though she never lived in Tennessee, Jean Lillian was finally home.

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