She turned 18 yesterday.
She is my eighth child, the fourth of my six daughters. She was born in my bed, in my bedroom, on a warm and sunny afternoon, welcomed into the sunshine by her older sisters, by my best friends, caught by my midwife. She came beautiful into the world, with wide-open brown eyes, a full head of curly hair, a cupid’s bow for lips.
She’s a writer, a poet, a musician, a brilliant woman, stubborn as all hell (true to her Taurus nature), courageous beyond all reason, and above all, a free, free spirit.
I expect I will keep on seeing in her the strength, depth, compassion, with which I am so familiar, having had the privilege of loving her for 18 years. I expect, above all, many surprises, because some things never change.
I love you, Em.