Pinkie Pie

My three-year-old niece Emily is my favorite person. I provided care for her full-time from her birth until the age of two. Now we live hours and hours away from each other. I miss her. The time we do have together when we visit each other is time that I cherish beyond words. Emily loves My Little Ponies, just as my sister and I did when we were young. Pinkie Pie is Emily’s favorite, and she has this little cute hoodie she always wears that looks like Pinkie Pie.

Emily and my parents had just visited my husband and I last week and they left Thursday morning. When they left, she was wearing her Pinkie Pie hoodie, with her long, dark, loose curls flowing wild. I hugged her, choking back tears. I then got ready to start my day at BRC, preparing for our food service for the migrants.

Thursday was a busy day, as there was a need for BRC to assist with extra meals. So, our team split up into two different locations for delivery and serving. I arrived at my location and assisted with bringing the food in and setting up, but I could not stay to serve as I had to go to work at my part-time job as a drawing instructor at an elementary school. I had just said good-bye to my team and was making my way toward the door when I saw the Pinkie Pie hoodie. It was Emily. Long, dark, loose curls flowing wild. I froze, my heart leaping to my throat. She turned and I saw her little face, her complexion only slightly darker than Emily’s, her smile different. Her Pinkie Pie hoodie dirty and torn. She wasn’t Emily of course. But she was. She was, and she wasn’t. I smiled back at her, and then I quickly went through the exit and to my car. I could feel myself breaking.

I reached the seclusion of my car just as the tears began to fall. Hot, sad, angry, desperate tear