The story of Lily Maynard began and ended with a smile.

It was a smile that warmed the hearts of everyone around her, even as her tiny body fought a battle far too immense for its frail frame. From the moment the doctors had spoken the word that no parent ever wants to hear—cancer—Lily had accepted it in a way that seemed impossible for her tender age of ten.

Her parents, Sarah and Tom Maynard, had shattered that day. They had driven home from the hospital in silence, holding hands in a way that spoke more of mutual desperation than comfort. But when they arrived back home, Lily had greeted them with that same smile, the one that never seemed to waver, even when her world turned upside down. It was as though, in her young heart, she had already come to peace with what lay ahead, even before the adults in her life could comprehend it.

Lily had always been a bright soul, a little girl with an old heart, as her grandmother used to say. She’d been the type of child who asked deep, meaningful questions—questions that left her parents stumbling for answers. She loved to sit by the window in the mornings, looking out at the garden and talking to her flowers as though they understood every word. She believed they did, and who could argue with her?

When the chemotherapy started, Lily’s world of flowers and sunlight dimmed for a while. She lost her hair within weeks, but when she looked in the mirror, she simply shrugged and said, “It’ll grow back when it needs to.” She endured the sickness, the fatigue, the needles, and the seemingly endless scans, all with a grace that bewildered the nurses and doctors alike.

But despite her resilience, the cancer didn’t retreat. It had started in her bones, creeping its way into her lungs and liver, until the treatments became more of a desperate attempt to buy time than a genuine hope for a cure. Through it all, Lily smiled. When she overheard her parents crying late at night, thinking she was asleep, she would close her eyes and send out waves of love to them, wishing she could ease their burden.

And then, there were the good days—days when the sun seemed a little brighter, when the garden outside her window seemed to bloom just for her. On those days, Lily would play with her little brother, Jack, laughing at his silly jokes, even as her body grew weaker. She was a sister to him in every way that mattered, telling him stories before bed, drawing silly pictures of superheroes fighting dragons, all the while knowing she wouldn’t be around to see him grow up.

Jack was only seven, but he sensed that something was changing in his big sister. He often asked his mum why Lily couldn’t play like she used to, why she was always so tired. And Sarah, broken with grief, would hold him and whisper, “She’s just not well, sweetheart. But she loves you more than anything.” Lily would always smile at that. She did love Jack—more than the stars, more than the moon, more than anything else in the universe. And because of that love, she couldn’t bear to see him sad.

In those last few weeks, when the cancer had spread too far, and the doctors gently told her parents there was nothing more they could do, Lily’s strength remained unshaken. She listened as they explained that she would be moved into hospice care, where she would be more comfortable. When her parents tried to tell her, their words faltering, their faces streaked with tears, she simply smiled and said, “I know.”

How could she know? How could a child, barely ten, be so calm in the face of something so unfathomable?

“Are you scared?” her mother asked one evening, as she sat by Lily’s bed, brushing her hand through her daughter’s thinning hair.

Lily shook her head gently. “No, Mum. I’m not scared. I’m just… tired. And it feels right now.” Her mother’s heart shattered into a million pieces in that moment. But Lily, with her infinite wisdom, placed her hand on her mum’s and squeezed gently. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’ve had a good life. And I’ll always be with you, even when you can’t see me.”

Sarah wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all. How could her little girl be taken from her so soon? But when she looked into Lily’s eyes, she saw something she couldn’t understand—acceptance. Peace. As though her daughter had already come to terms with something far beyond what anyone else could comprehend. As the days passed, Lily’s body weakened, but her spirit remained strong. She continued to reassure her family, to comfort them with her quiet presence and gentle words. She spoke of the flowers in her garden, how they seemed to whisper secrets to her in the breeze, and of how she wasn’t afraid to go wherever it was that flowers went when they bloomed for the last time.

“I think God must have a garden,” she said one night as she lay in her hospice bed, her voice soft but certain. “A big, beautiful garden where the flowers never die. Maybe that’s where I’m going.” Her father, sitting quietly by her side, fought back tears. “Do you really think that, Lily?” he asked, his voice cracking. Lily turned her head to him, her smile as bright as ever, despite the pallor of her skin. “I know it, Dad. I just… feel it. It’s like a door is opening, and I’m going to walk through it. But don’t be sad. I’ll be okay.”

As the final days approached, Lily’s room became a sanctuary of love. Her parents were always by her side, Jack clung to her hand as often as he could, and even the nurses found it hard to leave her room without feeling a sense of calm they couldn’t explain. There was something otherworldly about Lily in those last moments, as though she were already beginning to transcend the pain and the suffering, already beginning to glimpse something beyond.

The night she passed, it was quiet. The stars outside her window twinkled, and the garden, now in full bloom, seemed to hum with life. Lily’s breaths had become shallow, each one taking more effort than the last. Her mother sat by her bedside, holding her hand, whispering words of love, of how proud she was of her, of how brave she had been. Lily, with her eyes half-closed, turned to her mother and smiled one last time. “It’s okay, Mum,” she whispered. “I’m ready now.”

And then, with a final breath, Lily closed her eyes. Her mother clung to her hand, her heart breaking in a way she never thought possible, but through her tears, she couldn’t help but feel something else. Peace. A sense of peace that had nothing to do with the physical world.

Lily’s journey didn’t end there.

As she drifted into the beyond, she found herself standing in a place she had always imagined but never seen. It was a garden—vast, endless, and full of colours that didn’t exist in the world she had known. The flowers swayed gently in a breeze that felt like a loving embrace, and in the distance, she could hear the soft hum of life itself. And there, in the midst of it all, was God. Not the God she had seen in pictures or read about in books, but a presence—vast and loving, full of light and warmth. There were no words, no need for explanations. Lily simply knew.

She smiled, feeling lighter than she ever had before, free from the pain, the sickness, the weight of her earthly body. She was surrounded by love, by a sense of belonging that was beyond anything she had ever experienced. It was as though she had come home, to a place she had always known, deep down in her soul. “Is this the garden?” she asked, her voice echoing softly in the air. And the presence that was God seemed to smile back at her. “Yes, child,” came the gentle reply, not in words but in feelings, in understanding. “This is where the flowers never fade.”

Lily’s heart swelled with joy, with peace. She looked around, taking in the beauty of it all, the vastness of the universe, the love that permeated everything. “Can I stay here?” she asked, not out of fear but out of a deep sense of belonging. The presence enveloped her, warm and comforting. “You are home, Lily. You are loved.” She smiled, her spirit soaring with the knowledge that she was exactly where she was meant to be. And though she had left the physical world behind, she knew that she would never truly leave her family. They would carry her with them, always, in their hearts, in the flowers that bloomed in the garden she had loved so much.

And so, Lily Maynard, with her bright smile and endless courage, found her peace in the garden of eternity. She had endured more than any child should, but in the end, she had not been afraid. She had loved fiercely, lived fully, and when the time came, she had stepped gracefully into the light.

© Peter Pickering 2020. www.peterpickering.com