Elephants were my daughter Andrea’s favorite.
Wherever we traveled, we brought back a little elephant souvenir. She arranged them all in her room. One day they were joined by a big picture of a sunflower.
“I just love this picture,” Andrea said as she hung it over her bed. “It reminds me of the sun even when I’m indoors.” I didn’t need a flower to remind me. Andrea was my sunshine.
When she died at 19 in a boating accident, I felt like she took all the warmth in my life with her. On the five-year anniversary, I visited the river where she died. Lord, let me feel that warmth again, I prayed as I looked out over the water.
I wandered into the nearby town. Walking past a shop window, my eyes fell on a little elephant statue. Andrea would love this, I thought. But what was that in its trunk? A sunflower! A plaque at the base of the statue read: “You are my sunshine.”
For the first time since Andrea’s death, I felt warm. “Thank you, Lord,” I whispered. The statue now sits on my bedside table. It reminds me that the sunshine—like Andrea—will always be with me.
