Earlier this summer, I reached out to Hillary Clinton through her official website, expecting my message to be a mere footnote in her busy world—a note likely to be chuckled at by a staff member, followed by a generic reply. However, last Thursday, I was surprised to find an envelope waiting for me in the mail, tucked within one of those direct-mail newspapers filled with classified ads. In an age where physical mail often consists solely of bills and advertisements, this envelope stood out. It bore an unmistakable “H” logo with a red arrow, and it was addressed to my daughter, Sarah.
I hesitated for a moment, pondering whether to hand it over to her right away, fearing she’d think it was a personal letter only to discover it was a fundraiser. (She has been planning to donate part of her allowance, anyway.) Unable to contain my curiosity, I opened it.
As I read the name “Sarah,” my hands trembled with excitement. I glanced at the date on the letter: September 10, 2016—the day before the media frenzy surrounding Clinton’s health after leaving the 9/11 memorial service. Despite battling pneumonia, Hillary had taken the time to write to my daughter.
I quickly texted my husband: “SARAH GOT MAIL. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”
After picking Sarah up from school—where she often “hides” by the side of the car before jumping in and shouting “Boo!”—I couldn’t wait to share the news.
I said, “We have something special to tell you.” Her eyes widened as I continued, “You got a letter from Hillary Clinton!”
Her face lit up with pure joy, her brown eyes sparkling and her mouth agape, revealing her missing front tooth. I handed her the letter and encouraged her to read it aloud.
Sarah, an impressive reader for her age, brought the letter to life as if it were a cherished poem. The way she read it made it seem like a personal message directed straight to her, filled with warmth and encouragement.
When people ask how she reacted, I respond simply—she beamed with happiness. The letter made her feel valued and important. It was a profound experience for a seven-year-old, one that resonated deeply.
Deciding to share this letter publicly was challenging for us. As active community members, we value our privacy and were concerned about drawing too much attention to Sarah. However, we also recognized the importance of the message within the letter, one that every child—regardless of gender—needs to hear.
This was not a political missive per se. It didn’t arrive with a solicitation for donations or a call to action. We chose to share it because it carries a universal message of empowerment and love, something that our society is in dire need of right now. As Hillary expressed in her letter, “If the space that you’re in doesn’t have room for your voice, don’t be afraid to carve out a space of your own.” Sarah especially loved that line, her smile widening as she read it.
We want other parents to share this message with their children. By replacing Sarah’s name with their own, we can create a collective movement advocating for respectful dialogue, compassion, and love.
If you’re interested in learning more about similar experiences, check out this engaging post on Cervical Insemination. And if you’re considering at-home insemination options, Make A Mom offers high-quality kits for your needs. For a deeper understanding of fertility and insurance, UCSF’s resource is incredibly helpful.
In summary, this experience has not only touched our family but also serves as a reminder of the importance of nurturing young voices and fostering a culture of understanding and love.
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