LINCOLN - Liza M. Davis, 32, beloved mother and devoted wife of Richard P. Davis, died October 13, 2015, from injuries sustained in a one vehicle accident while heading northbound on Interstate 95 in Bangor. She was born August 12, 1983 in Everett, Mass., the daughter of Patrick E. and Anna H. (Reardon) Beverly.
Liza graduated from Boston College in 2005, with a bachelor’s degree in biomedical engineering. After graduation, Liza spent time traveling before she met her husband, Richard. They were married May 16, 2009. Liza had a brief career before settling down to raise a family. She took great pride in her two children, Nathaniel (5) and Josephina (3) and enjoyed volunteering as a coach on her son’s soccer team.
Although Liza lost her parents in a tragic fire at a young age, and lived in foster homes until she was eighteen, Liza always had a positive outlook, inspiring others who knew and met her. Karen was always kind and thoughtful to all those whom she encountered and that legacy will live on long after she is gone.
Family and friends may visit 11-12 p.m. Saturday, November 17, 2015, at Kurt & Kindle Funeral Home, 43 Main Street, Lincoln, Maine. Funeral and private burial will follow at Lincoln’s Cemetery at 1 p.m.
There is no compare to a mother’s loss of her children. Pain becomes a treacherous monster that eats you from within. When you would give up your life, suffer any horrors that could possibly be inflicted in order to protect them, it’s a terrible feeling knowing that you couldn’t.
My children are perfectly safe. They will live an entirely normal childhood. One day, this will have only been a hiccup in the timeline that is their life. What memories they have will fade, and whatever pain they’re feeling will be watered down with time and new memories.
But for me, my children will forever be the sun that never rises. The moon will be my one glimpse at their light, but I will never see them again, never hold their warm bodies. I will never be able to look them in the eyes and tell them that I love them. Never even get to say goodbye.
“We have to go, Vasiliev.” That's my real name.
I push my sunglasses further up on my nose and nod in acknowledgement. No one is going to see me. The windows in the car are bullet proof and completely black, and a veil covers my dyed hair. If someone did see me, they wouldn’t recognize me, but one can never be too careful.
It’s peculiar enough to read your own obituary, but to attend your own funeral is completely bazaar. I had to come, though, needed to see, even if it was only from a distance – not quite as far as the eternity found six feet below, but it might as well be. As far as anyone knows, that is exactly where I am being placed at this moment.
I had orders not to come. Luckily, I have a partner who isn’t afraid to bend the rules. I had to have one last look. These are my children and my husband, the people who have become my entire world and whom I will never see again. I couldn’t just leave.
It’s taking all of my strength just to stay in the car. More than anything I want to forget the world and run into their empty arms, so that we can live in our own little reality. But I have no choice. I got myself into this, and there’s no turning back. Not now. The timeline of my life was decided years ago. This was a part of the plan. I knew I would eventually have to leave. I just didn’t realize how much I wouldn’t want to. They don’t prepare you for that.
Kozlov, the only constant my life has ever known, my partner in all things, including heartbreak and heart-putting-back-together, shifts the idling car into gear, and slowly we drive away. I grip the door handle for support, to keep from looking back. Looking back only makes going forward that much more difficult.
I can control my body, but I can’t control the emotions ripping through me like an exploding bullet.
One tear hangs dangerously on the edge of my lower lid. I blink, and it vanishes. Crying would only make this all the more difficult.