As I am beginning to reflect on all that I am thankful for this Thanksgiving, there is much for me to show gratitude to The Creator for. One of the biggest blessings is the health of my 6 year old daughter Elise this year. She has come so far from a little girl who used to have frequent pneumonia, seizures, and a laundry list of other serious symptoms due to her Mitochondrial disease. This year we are still dealing with her daily headaches, muscle pain, changing vision and moments of confusion, but I have to be thankful for that in retrospect. She is the most delightful, sweet little girl, I'm not sure what the future holds for her, but I'm enjoying and trying to remember to treasure the "right now". I thought of the following writings I took down about her 3 years ago, once reflecting on her and once after taking her to the ER after another episode of seizure activity. She looked like such an angel that night as she was wearing a very pretty white nightgown and had fallen in a deep sleep in the back of the car. I am thankful that this year I haven't had to feel this way, although it will never leave me.
Ellie
Let me tell you a story of a little girl who when she was conceived, God gave her an unexplainable happiness that touches everyone who is placed in her path.
Those eyes, they beckon you, and once you gaze into them you cannot look away, and when the smile comes you are lost and belong to her forever.
In her presence, she makes you feel good about yourself because you can see well in yourself for loving one so special without any effort.
Let me tell you about my Ellie.
The Journey of a Sick Child
She’s sleeping now, rock-a-bye.
She can’t feel the pain, or see me cry.
The ride must have lulled her to sleep.
This course I wish not to keep.
Her body is still. Her eyes are blind.
I have this route etched out in my mind.
If I don’t continue on, the tremors will return.
Why, God, must you be so stern?
Her vision in my rear-view mirror is a blur.
I must be composed for her.
I’ll park the car and wipe my eyes,
Open her door, and convince myself I’m being wise.
She’s dreaming in her white night gown,
While strangers begin holding her down.
Why wake such an angel with needles and lights,
While I stand by and say it’s all right?
Why does she have to know evil so young?
Why can’t enough comfort come from my tongue?
Why can’t I be the one who has this challenge to fight?
Why does this always happen at night?
She’s exhausted now, rock-a-bye.
Tears are pasted to her face from the cry.
The nurses and doctors keep her from sleep.
This course I wish not to keep.
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