“Who Else Has a Son Like Mine?” A Mother Searches for Other Parents Who Lack Medical Answers
How many days had we spent asking the same questions of God or doctors? How long had we wrestled with conditions that didn’t yet exist?
Sometimes when I’m reading to my seven-year-old daughter, she’ll suck in a big breath, seal her lips, and begin moving her right hand, fixed in a Y-shape, back and forth between us. Her hazel eyes will grow; her chest will puff out. It would be torture to make her wait, so I usually stop to acknowledge the sign her first-grade teacher taught her.
Did you really lead a group of slaves to freedom by reading the stars, or are you just a Black person who likes the sky?
Me too, me too. I have a connection.
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More by this author
Not knowing happens to all mothers, and to all of us—if we are breathing, we are without escape from things we can’t know.
I Underwent Genetic Testing to Help My Son, and Discovered I Have an Increased Risk of Breast Cancer
What if my son, the boy who has puzzled everyone, has helped to save my life?
Two Black Parents of an Undiagnosed Child Walk Into a Meeting: On Race, Special Education, and Our Son’s IEP
I’m not just advocating for a child whose challenges don’t follow a script. I’m also a black mother advocating for my black son in a room full of people who don’t look like us.
More in this series
It is the act of recording all this data that has helped me step away from identifying so strongly with it.
“When you’ve spent all your life smothering your contradictions, their eruption can undo you.”
As a mother, I’ve had to ask myself: What would never getting an answer, or even no longer expecting an answer, look like?