Good morning…
She walked into our foyer on the first day of class and, after sharing an “I missed you” hug, she pulled from her purse a bulletin from her eighteen year old niece’s memorial service. I marveled at pictures of the same smiling face growing up through the years, a down-to-earth face I will not meet until heaven. Then I happened upon the insert, a “Where I Am From” poem, the same poetic assignment our four kids each completed at school. My friend said, “Sure,” when I asked if I could make a copy of the bulletin then Emily’s family said “Yes,” when we asked if I could share with you her touching poem.
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Where I Am From by Emily Jill Peters (January 5, 2000 – August 26, 2018)
I am from fried chicken, from Sunday morning church and dinner at grandma’s.
I am from a Duke vs. Carolina rivalry, from Carolina obviously being better (even though I support Duke).
I am from Mike and Meredith, from brown hair and green eyes.
I am from beach weekends, from a sun kissed summer.
I am from losing you and hating February.
I am from a soccer field, from center back and number twelve.
I am from a dream of playing professional soccer, from knowing that dream isn’t a reality.
I am from the blue and gold of GHS and the blue and black of WSE.
I am from wanting an Ivy League education but not having the money.
I am from hospital beds and many IV’s.
I am from hearing you’ll get better or you’re going to the hospital, from always expecting the worst.
I am from breathe deep and live well, from UNC hospitals.
I am from not knowing if this breath will be my last, from the support system helping me through.
I am from the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation.
I am from all the caregivers that helped shape my views, from all the 3HC nurses administering medication.
I am from an unhealthy obsession with cats, from being too allergic to get one.
I am from a love of S.E. Hinton, from a weathered copy of The Outsiders.
I am from the generation revolving around social media, from being one of the few that still wants to read.
I am from a box of memories under my bed, slowly fading.
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Here is the final encouragement shared in the memorial bulletin of an incredible young woman who lived fully the life she was empowered by God to live: “As Em would always say, ‘breathe out some love today.'” Please, in Emily’s honor, let’s do just that. Today. Tomorrow. Each day we are given life, let’s breathe out some love.
We are each “from” heaven and will be welcomed home to return, but while we are on earth may these words fill each breath: Your kindness and love will always be with me each day of my life, and I will live forever in your house, Lord (Psalm 23:6 (CEV).
…Sue…
