Today I experienced the most remarkable moment of my life: the birth of my daughter.
Holding her in my arms for the first time was a feeling of love so profound I didn’t even know existed. But, along with this immense happiness, I also felt a pang in my heart… I realized that many didn’t congratulate her, didn’t celebrate with me, simply because they think she doesn’t meet certain beauty standards.
This hurts any parent.
For me, she is perfect—my miracle, my reason for living, the reason everything took on new meaning. Her true beauty lies in her eyes full of life, in the strength she already carries, and in the simple fact of her existence.
So, if you’re reading these words, I only ask: don’t be someone who measures a person’s worth by appearance. My daughter deserves love, affection, and celebration. Every child that comes into the world is a blessing, and her birth was the greatest gift I could ever receive.
I’ll be honest with you; it wasn’t just grief keeping me away. There was something else underneath, something so ugly I dared not admit it out loud.
Resentment.
Just thinking about it made me ashamed, but I couldn’t help the way I felt. Tom and I had tried for years to be parents, but he’d given up long before I finally let that dream go.
He’d made that choice for both of us, really, when he refused to try another round of IVF. He’d suggested adoption, but I couldn’t bring myself to try it.
I could never have imagined that there was a deeper reason for Tom’s actions, one that would cut me right open.
All these unresolved issues felt fresh again after he passed. I hadn’t had the strength to face his grave, but I wanted to get over it now.
Tom was a good man and a good husband. He deserved to have fresh flowers on his grave.
As I drew closer to Tom’s grave, I spotted something strange.
A boy, maybe ten years old, was sitting cross-legged by the headstone like he’d grown there.