I know you.

I know you.

You are me.

You love your kid and fight for them. Medically, educationally, socially, all of it.

You absorb your kid’s pain and sorrow and bring them light and love.

You carry gaping open wounds on your soul, your heart.

You comfort your kid in pain and you cry in private.

You protect and defend.

You research. You re-research.

We are alike in so many ways. I’ve met you or I haven’t met you. We’re still alike.

We are different only in the ways we get some things done to get the same results. We respect in each other that we each have our own path.

You have advocate muscles you never knew were in you. Me too.

You memorize medications, side effects, symptoms of illnesses and diseases and monitor the little idiosyncrasies of such with laser focus.

You see what others do not see. You make them see what they should.

You are like a hawk disguised as a parent.

You keep moving for your kids when the world feels unsafe and heartbreaking because they need it not because you want to.

You want to climb under a blanket for a week, I do too, sometimes.

You want to do “self care” that everyone talks about and some of you make it happen and some of you don’t.

We share a lot of commonalities, you and I. Like fear over big and (what others deem) small things, financial stress, relationships needing our time and attention, and our deep appreciation for making even minutes count.

We especially appreciate the good times because we live with the knowledge there will be bad times. We know the bad times will come so we make those minutes count.

Milestones mean more to us than typical parents. We secretly think we have more knowledge than typical parents about life and love and the gift of tenacity.

We agree we’re not typical but our normal feels normal.

We are alike, you and I. I feel connected because of our shared happy and sad events.

I feel stronger when I know you have been strong and I feel sad when you’re sad.

Because you are me.