Another year. Another new joy. Many new joys. Easily overshadowed by the challenges, but there all the same. New joys and old joys slipping in unexpected, hiding in the moments, waiting to shine.
Another year. Another Joy Prom.
Weeks before the event, I received a phone call to see if Savannah would like to try on a donated dress. I could only laugh. The previous year Savannah had a “fancy” dress. Bright pink and puffy and crinkly. She giggled and squealed and wore it for days. Until the day of Joy Prom. That day it was vehemently thrown to the floor and replaced many times over until a common cotton house dress took its place to the formal affair.
Fashion is Savannah’s thing. She puts things together I would never consider and wears them better than any model. Winter boots and mini skirts. Glitter and plaid. Sparkles and joy.
Sure. We could try some donated dresses, but I had no expectation of her wearing one. Little did I know there was a dress waiting for her to find it. Waiting only for her. A soft pink dress, with golden sequins and a brown bow. A dress that would look amazing with knee-high, thick-heeled, clunky black boots.
And it did.
Like every year before, the night began with the magical red carpet entrance. Savannah entered, escorted by her Dad and Grandaddy. The flashes popped. The crowd cheered. The princess smiled. She buried her head in her arms, closed her eyes, and began to shine.
Savannah shined in the horse drawn carriage, shined as her nails were painted in sparkles, shined in the flashes of the photo booth. The sequins of her gown shimmered and glowed, as her boots carried her through the crowds. Her inner princess shining through. One high school boy, a personal crush of hers from the summer, took a double-take, turning and watching her walk by. True to tradition, his mouth fell open a bit. The sequins and the boots and paparazzi atmosphere had transformed her from disabled to unattainable.
Then came the new challenge: the Carnival Games. Savannah approached the carnival area hesitantly. Her skeptical eye and nervous pace answering each plea and coax to convince her to enter. Until finally, with trepidation looming, she did.
The joy she found surprised us all.
She was first greeted by an orange balloon poodle, made just for her, the girl terrified of dogs. And she loved it. She loved the horrid bright color that clashed with her dress and the smooth rubbery feel between her fingers. Most of all, she loved the way he looked as he tumbled from the sky each time she helped him become airborne with a squeal. Savannah carried him with her to the corn hole games (which she surprisingly won!) and to walk the cake walk (which she thought was great!) and to the parachute play (which she insisted he ride on!). The orange balloon poodle never left her. Weeks later, he is still sitting next to her favourite chair, half-deflated, waiting for her return from school.
The night ended in style with Savannah’s first limo ride, around the church parking lot and to our car. Night was falling, the church was emptying, and yet Savannah could have kept partying. She had stayed the entire Prom.
Another first. Another challenge overcome. Another joy.
Each year Joy Prom brings Savannah something new. New challenges and new joys. New friends and old mingled together, becoming inseparable, loving her stronger. It gives her the opportunity to dress up and be noticeably gorgeous instead of noticeably disabled. It gives her memories that can sparkle through her dreams for years to come. It gives her a chance to shine beyond her limitations.