Eulogy

Isabel Anne Emry was here with us for 352 days. How is that possible? How could 352 days be so long, yet her life so short?

How is it possible that she, one among thousands, would be born with a rare genetic disorder? How is it possible that one small girl could endure so much, yet smile so frequently?

Moreover, how is it possible that we could be so lucky, that our family would be chosen to be hers? That our relationship with Isabel made over the course of a year would have the depth and quality of others we've made over a lifetime?

Isabel's life is a testimony to what is possible.

When we first met, Isabel--like all new babies--had this luster of heaven about her, as if she was not quite of this world. Children seem so much closer to the divine, like a purer version of us. They radiate those qualities of God that we seek on earth, and are just not able to find in any other place. Pure acceptance, absolute joy, true love at first sight: Isabel demonstrated all these. And there was not a single person who was quite the same after knowing her.

We all admired her. Her resilience to spring back into life after her many surgeries was truly breathtaking. She made us all want to do better. Though her parents tirelessly cared for her every single day, they did not begin their parenthood with this kind of vigor. Isabel inspired in them strength, energy, and capabilities sufficient for her care. For how do you express your fatigue from caring for a child with special needs when they are looking at you with bandaged head three days out of surgery? Isabel inspired Adam and Kari to be, simply, the most devoted and patient parents I have ever known.

For the rest of us, Isabel showed us that we could do better. We could do better at those things that we sometimes resist out of fear, trepidation, or sheer laziness, for here was a girl who could teach you a thing or two about living…

Eating was not easy for her, holding her head up was not easy for her, breathing was not easy for her. The basic business of living we take for granted, yet Isabel had to work every day, as did her parents and grandparents to help her reach these milestones. She not only achieved them, she did them with a smile.

But, I must also tell you that Isabel’s life was no tidy lesson, sent here to give us all something to think about. She was her own person: a girl, just beginning to develop opinions, moods, a personality. She was happy, sunny, quick with a smile, and in recent weeks a bit of a conversationalist, if you could keep up. Your time with her would make the clock stop. It was magical, and profound. She would gaze into your soul with those beautiful, expressive eyes...and you would be hooked immediately.

Those of you who cared for her in the hospital probably got to see the "assertive Isabel,” making sure you knew which blanket, toy, or TV station she preferred. You may have suffered her tiny wrath, all kicking feet and waving arms. And you may have noticed that, in keeping with her Quaker heritage, Isabel wasn't afraid to administer a good shunning.

It was comforting for me to see this girl display such individuality and strength of spirit so early. To me, it meant that she planned on staying here, preparing herself for a life on earth. A life we all know, of daily struggles and joys, of triumphs and disappointments, of loving family and bossy cousins.

But it was not to be. Isabel, despite the tireless effort of her family, doctors, and nurses, passed on from this world to the next. To those who adored her, much too soon. We can hardly begin to understand why. Though Isabel will never walk, eat an ice cream cone, kiss a boy, drive a car; she wants for nothing. It is we that want these things for her, these life experiences and memories.

As people of faith we know that she is complete, she is fulfilled in her Creator's presence, a place we all wish to be someday. She has no pain, must never endure another surgery, has cast aside silly things like oxygen and g-tubes and helmets.

Instead of trying to make sense of our sudden loss, we are actively affirming that our time with her was a blessing. One that we were not prepared for, and one that continues to be revealed to us. We may never know why Isabel was taken, but we do know that she is at peace, with her Creator...and it is our job to honor that.

She will be missed in a most physical way. The void she left in all of us is felt every day. We are working on filling that space with her memory, and we long for a time that we will see her again. We do not mourn the years we did not have, we thank God for the 352 days that we did.

Thank you all for honoring her today.