Dear Sir,
I hope I didn’t alarm you too much. That wasn’t my intention at all. I was observing you and your daughter while standing in line at the grocery store with my partner. You were ahead of us, with just a few people in front of you.
As the line crept forward, I couldn’t help but notice your daughter. She seemed a bit too big for the shopping cart, and I saw her chewing on the seatbelt (which honestly, is pretty gross). I observed that she didn’t speak, and how you would gently touch her before using hand signals to communicate. Those details reminded me of my own son, Lucas, who also had a penchant for chewing on seatbelts.
I whispered to my partner, “Do you think that little girl can talk?” “Should I say something?” “Will her dad think I’m strange?” The internal struggle was real. I didn’t want to intrude, but my curiosity was overwhelming. My partner was growing weary of my questions, and I’m sure you were wondering why I was staring.
As you completed your purchase and started to leave, my partner encouraged me, “Go chat with him in the parking lot. It’s fine.” So, I did. Well, sort of. We didn’t make it to the parking lot; I mustered all my courage and stopped you by the exit. “Excuse me, sir, can I ask you something? Does your daughter talk?”
You looked surprised, and I apologize for my abruptness, but I really needed to know. “No, she doesn’t talk. Why?” I began to ramble about how she reminded me of Lucas, who had passed away earlier this year. I’m sorry for unloading that on you; when I get nervous, I tend to take the scenic route to my point.
I mentioned that my partner and I donate iPads to nonverbal children to help them communicate. You shared that your daughter has one at school and at home, using the same program we had with Lucas. You were very kind, repeatedly expressing your condolences for my son’s passing. I appreciate that, even as it’s a painful topic for me.
Thank you for indulging my questions about your daughter and for letting me share my story. I’m grateful you were open to talking with me, despite how odd it may have seemed. Thank you for bringing your daughter shopping this weekend; every conversation about Lucas or helping another nonverbal child brings a little more healing into my heart (even if you didn’t need my iPads, it was lovely to connect).
With appreciation from your grocery store admirer,
Katherine
If you’re interested in supporting our cause, consider donating to iPads From Lucas, where your generosity can help put iPads into the hands of children who need them. For more information or to contribute, check us out here.
And speaking of family journeys, if you’re exploring options for home insemination, you might find helpful insights in this blog post. For those looking into kits, Cryobaby offers excellent resources. Additionally, if you’re considering IVF, this resource is very informative.
In summary, connecting with you reminded me how meaningful it is to share stories and find community, even in unexpected places.