Mother Lily

In a pressure cooker where I worked for two decades, Lily was the head of Personnel (Human Resource was still a mindless infant not knowing how to grow up).

An evolution happened beneath the surface: her name morphed to Mother Lily.

There is no historical record of how that came to be, but I have two hypothesis. One, “Mother” was the groovy way to call a boss. Two, there was an infamous Mother Lily in the movie industry.

What does it matter?

Anyone in all the world who checks attendance, calls you out for infraction, and reads to you the riot act is both feared and reviled. Mother Lily bore those onuses on her shoulders. Yet, again, beneath the surface, she was loved.

Outside of the office, she valued personal relationships and knew everyone—past and present—by name, even after the company closed and we all went our separate ways.

And then, social  media happened. It gathered many of the separated staff once more.  Somehow, we know how most of us are doing, and occasionally we schedule small face-to-face encounters.

Cocooned in our homes for almost two moths now because of the Covid-19 pandemic, we have time for things that are important, among which is the renewal of vows of friendship.

One of our former art directors, Ggie, messaged all those in her list of contacts, “This is for Mother Lily’s birthday. Please take a photo of yourself holding a blank sheet of paper to your chest. I need it now!”

Ggie posted this on the celebrant’s wall—a group photo of  grace: a touching reunion of separated friends.

To Mother Lily and all my dear friends in that happy land far away, once long ago . . .