That tiny girl is Heather Liebler, who was 16 when the photo was taken. Heather had a genetic disorder that severely limited the things she was able to do, but not her ability to bring joy into the lives of everyone around her.
Heather died last week at the age of 19, older than most children who are born with the disorder she had.
I went to her memorial service last night, not because I knew her well so much as that her brother, DJ, is in my Sunday school class.
Our society's image of disability is that people with severe disabilities can't live life to the fullest. Heather's life was anything but empty, and her joy and mischief filled the lives of everyone who knew her. There had to be 200 people at her memorial service -- teachers, social workers, therapists, friends, family members -- each with their own stories of Heather.
The director of the Progressive Education Program, which Heather attended, told a story of taking Heather for a walk and watching in horror as Heather pulled the school fire alarm before she could stop her.
I met Heather twice, once when her mom brought the photo here to the paper so we could use it in a story about the program needing donations of prom dresses. That time, I leaned down to say hello to Heather and she grabbed by ID badge and nearly pulled me over. She giggled gleefully as her mom tried to pry her fingers from the lanyard. The second time was when she was at that year's prom.
I can't say she changed my life, but she certainly brought sunshine to that day at work.
Heather died last week at the age of 19, older than most children who are born with the disorder she had.
I went to her memorial service last night, not because I knew her well so much as that her brother, DJ, is in my Sunday school class.
Our society's image of disability is that people with severe disabilities can't live life to the fullest. Heather's life was anything but empty, and her joy and mischief filled the lives of everyone who knew her. There had to be 200 people at her memorial service -- teachers, social workers, therapists, friends, family members -- each with their own stories of Heather.
The director of the Progressive Education Program, which Heather attended, told a story of taking Heather for a walk and watching in horror as Heather pulled the school fire alarm before she could stop her.
I met Heather twice, once when her mom brought the photo here to the paper so we could use it in a story about the program needing donations of prom dresses. That time, I leaned down to say hello to Heather and she grabbed by ID badge and nearly pulled me over. She giggled gleefully as her mom tried to pry her fingers from the lanyard. The second time was when she was at that year's prom.
I can't say she changed my life, but she certainly brought sunshine to that day at work.
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