I found a sister in pain in the most unlikely person.
While we were waiting to get a blood test done for Mr. Wiggles at a local hospital (our last jaundice test), a woman and a man came into the empty waiting room. They looked rough. Definitely drugs. Definitely street life. I stood back a little, unsure of what to expect.
With a cheerful smile the woman said: Congratulations!
She meant it, I realised, with the most sincere of hearts. I thanked her for that and looked her in the eyes. There was something there...
My baby is in foster care, they took him away when he was three months old, she said while reaching into her plastic bag to pull out a picture of a beautiful little boy, blond with chubby cheeks. The picture was attached to the plastic bag with clear tape, to save it from the rain and from being lost...
The next gesture she made was like looking in the mirror: she pulled her sleeve to reveal her baby's footprint tattooed onto her forearm. I took a step closer, pulled my sleeve up and put Amelia's footprint on my forearm right next to hers.
In that moment we were one and the same: two moms who lost their babies and who miss them deeply no matter what.