These are stories of my daughter, Emma, lost to suicide at the tender age of 17. I refuse to allow Emma, or our lives together, to be defined by this single desperate act. I’m starting this blog to restore the memory, image by image, story by story, of that wonderful, delightful person that I knew. A person who brought me unparalleled joy - the kind of joy you can only bring others when you feel it yourself.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Bozo
As Emma got older she became more self-aware and got a better handle on her fearfulness. In fact, she even developed a sense of humor about it. I remember a car ride about two years ago. We were talking about the various Disney World resorts because we were planning a trip there. Sarah was telling us about one of the resorts a friend had just been to. "The pool has a slide that comes out of the mouth of a giant clown's head. Isn't that cool?!" Sarah exclaimed. "Oh my God!" said Emma with a mixture of horror and amusement, "That's my worst nightmare!"
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