Dear Dad,
I hope I didn’t catch you off guard. I didn’t intend to. I was observing you and your daughter in the grocery store line while my partner and I waited behind you. As the queue inched forward, I noticed your daughter. She seemed a bit old to be sitting in the shopping cart, and I saw her chewing on the seat belt, which is honestly kind of gross. I observed that she didn’t speak, and you would gently touch her before making gestures.
All these little details struck a chord with me, reminding me of my own child, Noah, who had a similar habit of munching on seat belts. I leaned over to my partner and whispered, “Do you think she can talk?” I wrestled with whether to say something to you, worried that you might think I was strange for my curiosity. But as you were finishing up your purchase, my partner encouraged me to reach out.
I didn’t make it all the way to the parking lot, but I did gather enough courage to stop you by the door. “Excuse me, sir, can I ask you something? Does your daughter talk?” I could see the surprise on your face, and I felt a rush of regret for being so direct, but I needed to know.
“No, she doesn’t talk. Why?” you replied. I found myself rambling about how she reminded me of Noah, who we lost not long ago. I’m sorry that I brought that up; it’s still a heavy topic for me. I told you how my partner and I donate iPads to help nonverbal children communicate.
You mentioned that your daughter actually has one at school and one at home, and you use the same program we utilized with Noah. I appreciate your kindness in acknowledging my loss, even though I didn’t want to dwell on it. You kept apologizing for your daughter’s behavior while we spoke, as she tried to swat at me. I could tell you were just being a caring father.
Thank you for allowing me to talk about your daughter and share my story about Noah without dismissing me as some random person. I’m grateful for the insight you provided about her diagnosis (which I still can’t spell). Your decision to bring her to the store this weekend helped mend a little piece of my heart. I cherish every opportunity to discuss Noah and assist other nonverbal children, even if you didn’t really need my iPads.
With appreciation and warmth from your grocery store admirer,
Emily
If you’re interested in supporting our initiative, consider donating to iPads From Noah, where we ensure these essential tools reach children in need. For more details or to donate, check out this link.
Also, if you’re exploring options for at-home insemination, reputable retailers like Make a Mom offer excellent kits to assist you. Additionally, for more insights on fertility and IVF, I recommend checking Cleveland Clinic’s podcast as a valuable resource.
In summary, it’s inspiring how brief encounters in everyday places can lead to meaningful conversations. I’m grateful for the chance to connect and learn from each other.
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