Six Years Ago

Six years ago,  your siblings stood on the front porch watching lightning dancing across the night sky.  “It’s fireworks,” your Opa said.  “God is so happy that you have a sister that he’s putting on a show.”  They sighed in wonder at the joy of God.

You were such a bitty thing all curled up in our arms.  Almost called Horatio, you slept easily with your great-grandmother’s name as your own.

For so long, you have wanted only to be unnoticed. Your shyness has been such a handicap in your life.  The thought of new people, the very sight of them has been such agony.  And yet……

What a paradox you are my sweet daughter.  The girl who hopes to be invisible yet dresses in sequins from head to toe.  Brilliant neon tutus are your clothing of choice, but you hope that nobody looks as you go twirling by.

What a world you have created for yourself.  Color and spangles, light and laughter.  You are the butterfly slowly emerging.  I can’t wait to see what you choose to become, but I’m sure you will be a sight to behold.

Happy birthday, Mei. We love you.