I’ve watched her grow from learning how to swing to learning how to hold a pencil. Carefully treaded steps turned to running & guarded arms outstretched to the world. The sounds she once feared and turned away from she finds and runs to. She knows them each by name. Paying attention to the sounds of the world is a difficult task to undertake that she regards as a symphony & knows nothing less.
I’ve watched her ideas grow. Into the words she now can speak, the ideas were always there streaming presenting themselves with movement & careful concentration but an interruption keeping the message from reaching us. Words. She knew them. Had them. But couldn’t use them. And now she can. She chooses them wisely. A sentence can produce a paragraph. Meaningful demonstrations that tell me everything is going to be ok. She not only can speak language. She understands it. And this is the soul of the world, this thing called language. Specifically speech. For those of us who can speak it we possess a great gift of life. But for those of us who understand it we understand the meaning of that life. That word life. It isn’t just a word. It’s a feeling. A stim. That feeling that wells you up inside and like spilling tears that you try to hide it floods out in jumps & squeals and flapping hands. All these words we say they all hold meaning. How many of us feel those words? Knows what it’s like to feel a sound, a word, a sentence. A story, a song a lifetime of moments….ideas…that would otherwise just be words covering us in a blanket called time? I know one person. Lily. She feels the world with her fingertips. She can see what an object looks like by touching it. And speak her mind without ever saying a word.
I’ve watched her live.
I’ve watched her grow.