In the morning, almost like clockwork, I go into Emily’s bedroom to help her get the day started. A kiss. A snuggle. A sippy cup of milk and her seizure medication. A text or ten to Nicole, then I open her blinds, pick out her clothes and wait for her to ask for the iPad and something to eat using her Go Talk.
I love you Emily. You give meaning to the word joy. I cannot imagine being any happier – or- how I ever dreamed that I was happy before you came into my life. Thank you for putting a smile on my face.
I asked an interesting question the other day. Ashley and I were talking about love and I asked her…. how do I know if Emily loves me? “If she loves you? Mom, Emily is IN LOVE with you” she said without hesitation.
My heart melted as I thought about how powerful Ashley’s words just were. How could my child who couldn’t speak ever tell me she loved me? How would I know?
Just the fact that her very existence depends on all of the things must I do for her. I really never need to hear the words from her mouth I love you Mom, because I feel it. I feel it when I look into Emily’s eyes and I feel it running through my soul. Sure I would love to hear them one day. But I don’t need to.
Because I know.