I do not know you.
You shared a video of who you described as “your non-verbal, non-mobile” daughter. She was walking, for the first time with her “Barbie pink walker”.
I won’t get to meet her, or you. I won’t learn her name or have a tea at your house as you describe the terrifying unknown of parenting a child with a life-threating condition. I won’t hold your hand as you cry or offer to bring over some ridiculous rom-com so you can “forget” for 90 minutes.
But I know you. My cells are vibrating.
Like an invisible thread connecting my mother gene to yours, I can feel everything. I maybe don’t fully understand it nor do I truly get what you are going through but there is something that I can grasp. That energy, that light, connects us all and the empathy we feel for a mother’s pain or a daughter’s small triumph can be tangibly felt millions of miles away.
Nothing else need connect us except the shared reality of mother.
I weep for joy for your daughter’s triumph. A smile breaks my face for you.
Motherhood is our common, silent language. The invisible shared gene within us. Gratitude for that gene.