In 2015, Liberty was a graduating senior at Caprock. That was eight years ago. On Senior Day, we enjoyed the Pirate ship, the Hymilayan, and a few more rides that were Liberty accessible. We tried to ensure that Libby got a genuine experience in her Senior year. It was harrowing getting her into and out of the rides, but her smiles were worth it.
Her senior year was wonderful for her. And like many other parents, it was harder on all of Libby's family. There was a fear of the unknown, excitement, and trepidation. She wanted to graduate with her friends- so she did. I didn't have a plan for where Libby would go while I was at school. We didn't have a plan at all. Stubbornness won, as it usually did.
Against my requests, Libby wanted to walk across the stage. It took a gait belt, leg braces, a principal, and several Special Education Aides flanking her through her journey across the stage. I handed her a diploma with tears running down my cheeks. I will never forget that day. It took her 14 hard and slow steps to get across to get that diploma. I am grateful she wanted to walk with her friends. Grateful it counted.
I count. I count everything. And many things. I used to count every step on my walk after school. No reason except I wanted to know exactly how many steps it took me to get home to Grandma. For years I would count the time between breaths. Count the breaths. The time between medications. Counting my grief with every breath.
It is a blessing and a challenge to continue to count the days since her last day: 471 days as of 5/17/23. Counting the last time she ate. Counting the last time she laughed. Counting back to the last times she sang. I don’t need to keep counting, but it is a balm at times for my heart to count these moments and days. Instead, I can count the inches on her tree has grown, how long I’ve been living in my apartment, or how happy Mariah is. I can count on the end of my 19th year of teaching.
This is a monumental passage in my life. Until now, I have never before lived alone. I have never had my own bathroom. Never had my own closet. I have found that I am better with less.
Until now, I have always shared my space in some way. I have very few items in my tiny home, and that is good.
I don’t need things. I need time and healing peace. I need Libby’s tree to continue to grow. Today, I have Monkey, my Siamese cat, and he is enough.
( I do miss my dogs, but there’s no way for me to have them now.)
There is no internet and no tv in my apartment, and I love the solace and quiet. I lose time in peacefulness as I count my days. I am humbled to have each and every day to carry on. It is a gift to have the time to carry on, as I grow into my own independence.
Mariah continues to flourish and become more and more of a force in her own world. She is kind, thoughtful, honest, and fierce. Mariah is everything I could have wanted her to be and SO MUCH MORE. Derrick and Mariah's understanding and support are a true gift. Cannot say thank you enough.
More and more I cleave to my faith for all of the opportunities and
challenges ahead.
You are loved. You are important. You count. Every bit and breath counts. This time is not guaranteed, so we are all graduating in our own ways. And it all counts. For that, we are blessed. "Didn't Know My Own Strength"
