no. 6: doggie doggie doggie doggie

dear little leah, 

when you were little{r}, and we'd take daddy to work in the morning, each time we got off the freeway and onto the street where he works, we'd here a tiny "doggie doggie doggie doggie" coming from the back seat. daddy and i could NOT for the lives of us figure out why you always said "doggie" right as we got off the freeway. we searched and searched to figure out what you might be looking at or thinking about at that point every single day. 

the "doggie doggies" continued until you could no longer speak. and it wasn't until then - sometime last fall - that i finally saw what you had been seeing: a billboard, off to the left, behind some buildings and trees. and it had a cat and...a dog...right smack in the middle. i couldn't believe my eyes. 

"doggie doggie!" i exclaimed to your dad. he was so confused. i pointed to the sign and we both finally understood. we finally saw what you had been seeing all along. it was so obvious. why had we not noticed it before? 

i've had similar feelings all along this rett syndrome road, leah. it's like you're trying to show us, to tell us, to explain to us and we just. don't. see. then all of a sudden, it clicks. i get it. i finally understand what you want or what hurts or what you might need. 

i haven't figured everything out yet. and we've still got a long road ahead of us, but let's hope for more doggie doggie days soon. 

i love you to the moon and back. 

love, 

mommy

p.s. when they cure rett syndrome and you can talk again, will you promise to say "doggie doggie doggie doggie" for me? and maybe throw an "opatus" in there too?

{...}