your daughter
Friday, August 01, 2003

This is what I think about when I think about Schuyler Hudson.

I remember a night last August. I remember riding in Rob's Beetle to some ice cream place, with Schuyler in the back seat, and with Julie and Geoff in her car, following behind us. I remember that when I got out of the car and lifted up my seat and reached toward Schuyler, she lifted her arms up to me and smiled, and I unfastened the buckles on her car seat and lifted her up and carried her into the ice cream place. She held onto me. I remember feeling honored and pleased - that Schuyler had accepted me as a friend.

I was holding Schuyler, so somebody else (Geoff? Rob?) bought my ice cream cone and handed it to me where I stood with her. She reached toward my ice cream, and I let her grab a bite of ice cream (which she loved), but when she reached for another bite, her hands were covered in slobber, so I started laughing and trying to tear off a piece of ice cream myself so that I could hand it to her, but I didn't have enough arms to hold Schuyler and hold the cone and tear off a chunk of ice cream. Either Rob or Julie came over and took Schuyler from me, and held her for awhile.

We all went out on the porch, and we ate our ice cream, and at some point we got Molly out of the car, and we gave her some ice cream, too. After we ate our ice cream, we ended up in the back yard behind the building.

It had been twilight when we left to get ice cream, but by the time we'd finished eating, it was almost fully dark. It was a warm summer night. We were all happy and maybe a little tired. There were fireflies flashing in the air. And somehow it happened that instead of standing around in the tall grass, in the darkness, we started moving. Molly wanted to run, and she wanted us to chase her. And then Schuyler wanted to run, and she wanted us (and Molly) to chase her. So Molly ran and panted, and we took turns running after her. And Schuyler ran and laughed, and we took turns running after her, all of us making sure that neither the little girl nor the dog ran too far away. We made a protective circle around them. Rob got out his flashlight, I think, so that we could see a little better, but by then our eyes had mostly adjusted to the dark. And besides, it turned out to be a perfect place for running and laughing - no large obstacles, no hidden things to trip over, no holes to fall into.

That's the moment that pops into my head when I think of Schuyler. I think of a warm night, and tall grass, and bellies full of ice cream, and a circle of friends watching over a beautiful little girl who was laughing, laughing, laughing.

I knew then, of course, that Rob and Julie were worried about Schuyler - about her future, and about why she didn't speak. Because of that, during our visit I worried with them, a little bit, as if I could spot some clue or figure something out. In spite of that (or maybe because of that), what struck me the most (and what's stayed with me the longest) were those moments in the grassy yard, and the way every part of that whole evening, Schuyler included, seemed completely normal. Perfect, even.

And now that there is an answer, this is one of those times when my heart hurts for someone else. I want to do something to help, and yet I realize that there is nothing, really, that I can do. But Rob - I can tell you that when I think of your daughter, I think of sweetness and that warm summer night, and that those moments of perfection will live with me forever.

I hope this comes across the way I want it to. It's meant to be full of love.

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