Land of Lost Socks is a story I wrote for my daughter Amy. Amy passed away from Multiple Sclerosis almost two years ago so the story is fiction. But, the amount of love I had for her is real.

Land of Lost Socks – Chapter One

It appears that when you need a special touch or a reason to exist or need validation that you are here for a reason, God sends you someone or something special. It was exactly that way when my Amy was born. I had never been lucky in the love game, so when she came into my life I was shocked and puzzled and panicky.

Being raised in an extremely dysfunctional family, where love was not openly expressed, seemed to carry over into relationships when I became an adult. When I met Gary, the most handsome, loving, giving, p-e-r-f-e-c-t person, I knew God had smiled on me. By our second date, we knew we were in love. After being together and sharing our lives with each other for over six months, I still could not relax and openly show affection the way he needed me to. He tearfully broke our engagement and disappeared out of my life forever.

One week after Gary and I broke up I learned I was pregnant. Even though I considered abortion, my Southern Baptist raising played a part in my decision not to terminate the pregnancy. I decided that adoption was a better option and I could not end the life that had already begun growing inside me. I have never regretted that decision.

“God’s little bundle” as I called her arrived all wrinkled, red and screaming, making her presence known to everyone who would listen. From the moment I looked into her angelic face, I knew I had made the right decision not to end her life before it began. I also knew that adoption was not an option. She was mine and I loved her. She had the most perfect disposition God ever created. She taught me so much about love and life, giving and receiving. I found out how truly wonderful hugs and kisses really were.

She began talking early at four months of age and by the time we celebrated her first birthday, she was speaking in complete sentences. She was the biggest challenge I had ever faced, much greater than any of my third grader students had been. As a teacher, I thought I had seen or heard everything, but Amy soon changed that notion.

She asked adult questions and expected answers on the same level. As I reflect upon the past, I can remember every conversation we shared and every hug and kiss on every boo-boo she received.

When Amy was two, I received my first butterfly kiss. The two of us were weeding the flower beds on a brisk Spring Saturday when she stopped, hands full of dirt, and asked me if I wanted a butterfly kiss. Because I had always been a curious person, I told her I did. I wanted to know what that kiss was. She climbed upon my lap as I sat on the ground, put her arms tightly around my neck, brought her face really close to mine and fluttered her eyelashes up and down on my cheek. We both giggled until I cried. She never revealed to me where she got the notion of this kiss and I did not ask. Every time I see a monarch, I cannot help thinking of that wonderful day with my Amy.