Today, I had coffee with my younger self—
I arrived precisely on time, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around me like a familiar embrace. I ordered two cups—one for me, and one for her—and took a moment to survey the café, searching for the most suitable nook where the sunlight poured in through the windows. I knew I’d be waiting for a bit; she had a tendency to run late, in a flurry of thoughts and worries.
And then she appeared, a whirlwind of youthful energy and anxiety—her eyes darting around the room, scanning every table in a frantic search for familiarity. When our gazes met, she lit up, dashing over with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
“Red hair, huh?” she remarked, an eyebrow raised. “Not a bad look.”
“Hey, take a seat,” I replied, nodding towards the empty chair across from me. “You’re going to need it. We have a lot to discuss.”
As she settled in, I took a deliberate breath, savoring the aroma of the coffee as I stirred it slowly. I could feel her intense gaze, a blend of curiosity and bewilderment, as if she were trying to decode the very essence of who I had become.
“You’re going to have a beautiful life, but first, it will demand strength from you,” I shared, holding her gaze steady. Her expression morphed into one of deep contemplation, eyebrows furrowing as the weight of my words settled around us.
“Do we get to go to the Chicago Art Institute?” she asked, her voice a mix of hope and longing.
“No, we don’t go to art school, and we also don’t become a tattoo artist. I’m pretty sure Mom is quite relieved about that. We’ve taken a different path,” I said, offering a gentle smile, trying to ease the tension. I consciously choose to keep the news about losing Mom to myself for now, deciding to save that for another day.
Her eyes widened. I cut right to the chase. “All those years spent questioning why you were the surviving twin? It makes sense now—we found our purpose. But hang on, because you’re in for quite the ride… We have a daughter.”
A nervous laugh bubbled from her lips, filling the space between us with disbelief. “You’re joking, right? I never… I can’t even…”
I cut her off gently. “I know it sounds unbelievable. But every cliché you’ve ever heard about parenthood? It’s true. Every single word and feeling. It’s like a love so profound that it eclipses everything you thought you knew. You simply cannot fathom it until you experience it yourself.”
Our daughter, I revealed, would face her own set of challenges, born with disabilities that would teach us resilience and empathy in ways we could never imagine.
I continued, sharing the struggles yet to come. The shyness, the overwhelming social situations that would feel insurmountable at times, but you get used to it, you find ways to break through, for her. We had endured some of the most challenging and unimaginable experiences that most people could never comprehend. But with each challenge, we would grow stronger, finding our voice and learning to stand tall because life would require it of us.
“We survived because we were born to fight,” I concluded with a sense of conviction. “And we will continue to fight for our community, our beliefs, and our family until our very last breath.”
As I spoke, I could see the flicker of understanding igniting in her eyes—an acceptance of the journey ahead, both daunting and beautiful, and a newfound courage blooming within her that mirrored the strength I had found along the way.
Editor's note: Tierra's article, Coping with Rare Diease as a Carer from our first issue, 12 May 2024, is included below.
