There is something about her.
She busies herself with tedious tasks, stomping
her winter boots like the good witch.
Her wrinkles take shape-
She delights in my sun-
while she vicariously breathes
she fills her home.
tend to me.
We live next door to a darling older lady. Every time she catches us coming home, she waits to greet us, helps me out of the car, but mostly… she is waiting to give Noah a kiss. From the day we moved, she has been enamored with his smile, his eyes. He is her sunshine, she says each time we meet.
The other day, we took her blueberry muffins. She greeted us at her door in pajamas, delight filled her aged face. Noah burst into laughter. As she lowered herself to his level, I heard her knees creak. Noah leaned in, placing his face on her shoulder and grabbed for the warm blueberry muffins.
I wondered if she knew that Noah was disabled. If she gave thought to the fact that he does not respond with words, but hands.
The sun shines, blinding us from the dark.
I walked away, confident, it did not matter.
A smile as genuine as Noah’s is costly. Costly in that, we miss out on a lot due to Angelman Syndrome, and yet, Noah has yet to flash a grin that is anything but authentic.
He touches lives, simply by existing.
He is God’s grandeur.