Enchanting. Rowan could draw a smile from the most unhappy person with her sparkle, her harmonic coo and smile. Strangers would be drawn from a distance to stop and say hello. And most of the time they were so enchanted by her charms they didn't notice the wheelchair, or the fact she did not say a word. She had communicated enough with her visitors that they left her feeling lighter, happier, enchanted. Once she did this repeatedly on a shopping trip so that by the time we left the store she was flexing her hands and toes in excitement, and her final target stopped us on the way out to ask if she was self-propelled. Enchanted.
Bath time. Bath time has always been a popular activity in our house, but for Rowan she really liked the warm water, splashing, playing with her toys. She even liked the part when you get out of the tub and the air is so cold, and I'd wrap her up quickly and rough her up to keep her warm. She'd coo and sing, and get very excited. She liked to have lotion massaged on her skin and have her wet hair combed. And often she was quite wound up by the time she was dressed and ready to start the bedtime wind down. It would then take her a long time to get sleepy. And being naked. She really liked that part.
Bryan and I both acknowledge this charm. We called it Ro-Therapy. She had the ability to wash away all your woes, worries and complaints. WIth a tender little pat, or one of her infamous smiles and a harmonic coo, and poof! Gone. Done. You were right where you needed to be and thinking about what mattered most, and no longer letting the everyday confuse your priorities. I wish we could have bottled that. We'd have made millions - if we could have been convinced to share it with the world.
Love pats. Although Rowan enjoyed being cuddled, she had a special way letting you know that she loved you. She'd just pat you, or touched you with her foot. Nothing major, just a subtle resting of her foot on your leg, or side. Or she would put her hand on your forearm. She wanted you to know she was near, and we could go on doing whatever activity we were doing, and the she loved us.
Motivation. She wasn't fast, or a ball of burning hot sun-like energy like her baby sister. But she never lost her motivation to work had or play hard at anything she did. She just plodded along through all her therapies and exercises without complaint. Steady, and unrelenting. She made our job so easy - doing it all without complaint.
Fathers and daughters. What a happy memory I have of her daddy snuggling with her. Carefully picking her up and cradling her everyday. She trained him very well. Got him on her program: she was the center of the universe. She prepped him for Laurel - passed the torch and shared it. Its an amazing sight.
ABBA. I can't possibly leave this off the list. She loved music and especially ABBA. I suspect that she knew that the lyrics were easy to sing along to and the rhythm very dance-able. She was guaranteed singing and dancing - her favorite. I can remember once as we were commuting across town, and Super Trouper (her theme song) came on the radio. I wasn't really paying attention to her as I was driving and I heard her coo in excitement. Her song was on.
Everyday Sunshine. Everyday was pure sunshine. To be a caretaker of such good and untainted love and happyness was such an honor. I never really felt that Bryan and I were responsible for teaching her these things; but rather our job was to just take care of such an angelic creature while she was here with us. And it was an honor. Everyday she brought us sunshine.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. (From Our Children by Kahlil Gibran)
We love you sweet girl and miss you.
