So much love.
The neonatologist, wheeling us out of NICU for the drive home: “Don’t worry. She’s strong and full of life.”
My mother, wearing a wig after chemo, holding my daughter for the first time: “I never thought this would happen.”
The pediatrician, about my difficulty breastfeeding: “Don’t let this come between you and your baby.”
The best friend, whenever I needed it: “She looks like you.”
The babysitter, on her first day: “We love each other already!”
The grandmother at the park, remembering life with her twin babies: “I had to get the laundry going every morning by 9.”
The nursery school teacher, before she had words: “She is a genius.”
The stranger watching her hoist herself to the top of the slide: “She’ll be a gymnast one day.”
The kindergarten teacher, on our first visit to the classroom: “I’d say she’s ready.”
The teacher at the parent conference: “She’s friends with everyone.”
The gymnastics coach: “You can be on our team.”
A fellow parent confronting the mystery of sixth grade math: “I have faith that they will figure it out.”
The Algebra teacher: “You know you can do it. Just give yourself time.”
The friend, after her admission to art school: “It’s what she was born to do.”
The English teacher, even after her panic attack in the classroom: “She’s the kind of student who will do well anywhere.”
Her counselor, when she had been frightfully sad, lonely and confused: “What an amazing young woman your daughter is.”
My mother, knowing her time was near: “I’ve often thought she came to take my place.”
Remembering so many mothers on the anniversary of my mother’s passing April 13, 2001.
Do not be me.
There comes a day as a parent when you realize you have accomplished nothing because there was nothing to accomplish.
