One Wild Ride

celebrating 21

Today is Emily’s 21st birthday. A day that meets me with wild emotion.

We celebrated Emily’s 4th and 5th birthdays in the hospital. Nurses decorated her room. A friend brought cupcakes. Cards and gifts from family and friends arrived at the hospital.

All day I thought, Please, God, give her 6, 10, 12……But 21? That felt like asking too much — it also felt scary.

So, I didn’t think too much about Emily’s future. And yet, I obsessed over Emily’s future.

She’s legally deaf, has stage three kidney disease, a compromised endocrine system, stunted growth, and hair that didn’t grow back well.

Instead of allowing myself to grieve the body and life Emily was born with — I put my head down and micromanaged everything I could to make her life better.

I sent emails to teachers and coaches reminding them she couldn’t hear well in a noisy classroom or on a field without her hearing aids. I orchestrated friend groups. I tried to control what she ate. When she asked for French braids, I scoured the house for two tiny elastics and hair-sprayed them into submission. I bought organic sunscreen and spent hours researching best car cushions for petite drivers.

All along, every year, every day, every hour, I worried about Emily’s future. My inability to live in the moment made me edgy, angry, and exhausted. I didn’t consider there was an alternative.

Because, don’t all moms with sick kids worry — incessantly?

On the night before her 4th birthday, while I watched the Citgo sign for hours, I wish someone could’ve whispered in my ear:

Hey, here’s a peek at Emily’s 21st birthday.

She just arrived home after studying at Trinity College in Dublin for a year. She’s heading into her senior year at Holy Cross with a near-perfect grade point average. She has an army of friends who adore how funny, smart, and adventurous she is. She’s embraced her hearing loss and is interning at a transition center for deaf adolescents this summer, as well as working at a coffee shop — because she’s a hustler who throws it down six days a week. She loves literature and reads the classics for fun (Emily Dickinson her favorite). She’s an artist, but don’t call her that; it annoys her.

In 17 years, you’ll stare into her big blue eyes and marvel at how it all happened. All that worrying, futile. All that controlling, an illusion. All that anger, wasted energy.

You’ll realize that despite your best efforts to mess her up, she turns out really well. She’s your best teacher. The love of your life. She drives you crazy. And never ceases to amaze you.

Please stop worrying. She will — and you will — be more than okay.

I wanted the spoiler so I could relax — breathe — enjoy. But life doesn’t work like that. The practice is to relax, breathe and enjoy our lives without the need to know how it turns out. So simple. And yet, the challenge of my lifetime.

Happy 21st Birthday, Emily Sarah. May you forgive my nonsense. And always know how much you are adored. Even when you’re dropping popcorn all over the house.

"‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers — That perches in the soul — And sings the tune without the words — And never stops — at all —"

Emily Dickinson, Emily’s favorite poet and writer