Friday, November 30, 2012
That and my bug-a-lug; my side kick, my favorite person to hang out with. Hands down. It's Miss Emily. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, ahem, you know who you all are, but well, it's true and I know you'll get over it.
There's a certain quality about Miss Emily that I don't easily see in others. She has an openness and an honesty and a 'here I am and I'm fine with it you should be too' attitude. She makes me smile. Even when she justwon'tstoptalkingorshakinghercheerpompomatmyelbow day. I still smile. Inside. Outside.
My life has depth that I would not have known possible were it not for the arrival of Emily. Sometimes I don't pay close attention to the emotions of that depth. But when I do those emotions flow from my core and they, the emotions, bring out the best in me. The long and the short of it is that Miss Emily makes me a better person. In spite of myself.
That is why I believe God chose me for Emily. Or maybe He chose Emily for me.
Our lives have laughter and humor and a significant amount of craziness that follows us around and I swear I am the one who carries it with us in an invisible back pack that I am unable to remove because, well, it's invisible. I wouldn't change any of the crazy because that's where most of the humor lies. We all know we need a good, solid, ridiculous laugh for ourselves now and again.
I spend an exceptional amount of time sorting through the misinformation that Miss Emily provides. For instance she will tell me, quite confidently, that she has not been weighed at her day program, when I know that she is weighed every month.
"Really Emily?" "Really Mom." Ten minutes later (or maybe ten days) she'll bring me the slip of paper the nurse dutifully jotted her weight on.
She hasn't changed much since she was a little girl. She has a smile that brings joy to others and a feisty little streak that makes one stand and contemplate what's going on in total consternation. How can one short little person bring so much to the table of life?
It's a Gift.
And so, as Emily reaches forward to her twenty-fourth birthday, "two more days, mom", I am reflecting on what gift to give to her but remembering more importantly what a gift she has always been to me.
Miss Emily is, without a doubt, a homemade chocolate pudding, just warm from the stove, with rich buttery flavor and melting whipped cream on top. She is the deeply rich chocolate flavor in my life and the burst of sweetness in every day.
She is more special than her special needs could ever be.