I Will See Celeste Again

I lean back on my heels and look at the yard. There is a line of dark soil against the side of the Johnsons’ house where Mom and I just planted flower bulbs. I pat the soil and sigh.

“Thanks for helping plant those,” Mom says.

I look at my hands, covered in dirt, and don’t say anything. I’m thinking about Celeste Johnson. Celeste, who used to live in this house. Celeste, who was almost exactly the same age as me. Celeste, who came with me to Primary. We played together and went to each other’s birthday parties. Sometimes we’d set up a tent in her backyard and pretend we were camping. She was my best friend.

Celeste’s gone now. She died in a car accident a few months ago. My family and I cried a lot. Celeste was our friend, and we knew we would miss her. We cried because Celeste’s dad had gotten hurt in the car accident. We cried because Celeste’s family was sad.

I really wanted to help Celeste’s family. I gave a stuffed animal to Celeste’s younger sister, Ella. I also helped some people from the ward make gifts for Celeste’s family. I wanted them to know they were loved.

When I went to Celeste’s funeral, I sat close to friends from church. We sang Celeste’s favorite Primary song, “Faith,” about how we can live with God again. It reminded me I’ll see Celeste again. At the cemetery, I placed a flower on top of the casket. Everyone who knew Celeste was still sad. We missed her. But when I prayed and fasted, I felt less sad. Reading scriptures and talking with friends from church helped too.

Today, we came to visit the Johnsons to help them plant flower bulbs in their yard. The bulbs are small and brown right now. I don’t know exactly what they’ll look like in the spring, but they’re supposed to be pretty.

Mom has been watching me and says, “Do you know what I like about bulbs?”

I shake my head. The sun is bright, and I have to squint to look at her. “What?”

“The flowers from these bulbs die in the winter, but they always come back in the spring,” she says. “They remind me of the resurrection. You can’t see the flowers after they’ve died, but that doesn’t mean they’re gone. Just like Celeste and all of us when we die. Because of Jesus Christ, we will all be resurrected and live again.”

I look at the mounds of dirt. The bulbs will grow, and grow, and push away the dirt. I know that by spring they will be beautiful flowers, and I know that I will see Celeste again.

I lean over the dirt where the bulbs are planted and blow a kiss. “See you in the spring!” I whisper.

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Illustrations by Shawna J. C. Tenney