We lived in Virginia for 4 years while I was in dental school. When it rains in Virginia you get wet, I mean you’re almost soaked before you even go outside. The humidity combined with the falling rain is a wetness you don’t soon dry out from.

While we lived there we had our one and only Virginia baby, Taylor Sheree Gardner. We spelled it a little different and I can still hear the voice of our home teacher, Durrell, pronouncing it in his own southern way. Sheeee-ree. 

Taylor had a really deep,  dude like,  voice from the start. As soon as she could talk the sound of her voice made her 4 year old brother Tyson sound like, well, a girl. This little Taylor girl had pipes! When she was happy, you had no doubt, her man laughter could be heard all through the house. But when she was mad, oh when she was mad, heaven help us. Then there were the tears. Tears like Virginia rain, there was no escape.  I would often tell people, “Me and Taylor have a love/hate relationship. I love her when she’s sleeping, but sometimes when she’s awake, well, you know.” 

This girl was hard headed like her Dad. One time in her teenage years after one of our “blowouts,” I made the mistake of telling her to “leave my house!” Fifteen minutes later she was getting ready to head out the door when I said, “where do you think you’re going?” “Uh, you told me to leave.” I spent the next 5 minutes begging her to stay to no avail. That thick headed hi-stepper was leaving dammit, and nothing would stop her. (With a lot more pleading on my part, she came home the next day)

Taylor got a bad deal. During some very important years of her life, I was missing in action. Although I was physically there for many important events in her young life, I just wasn’t ‘present.’  Numb from the effects of addiction,  I’d often be in my own world. Inspite of my fatherly failings at the time,  this fire ball daughter of mine kept moving forward. 

In 2002 Taylor sent me a letter that would help change the course of my life. I’d never been affected by the words of another human like I was by hers. The words of that letter, written by a 9 year old girl, who’s dad was in jail, are inspired scripture to me, the voice of God. 

“My hand is kind of funny looking, because mom was smashing it in the copy machine. It is all wrinkly. Me and mom thought it was funny, we laughed so hard when it came out.” 

“When you see the one that is just my hand that doesn’t say anything, place your hand against it and pretend you are holding my hand. Do it everyday and it will help you.” 

Taylor, your heaven sent instruction did help me. It also reminded me of another set of hands that are reaching out to us everyday. I pray I will always reach out to him and have the childlike faith to put my hands in his. 

I didn’t deserve this beautiful blessing. No way. But there it was. Inspite of all I’d done. The sweet, pure spirit of a child’s love. Godlike. I felt it all around me, within me, soaked to the soul, just like Virginia rain.