Less than a minute ago (as of when I started typing this), a young woman–maybe 28 years old–took my hand and held it to her quite pregnant stomach and smiled. That was all it took. A simple touch. The understanding that there was life and it was something to celebrate.
This woman was just brought to the House by Domond, my boss, with her young son and her husband. Her son (who is maybe eight or so) needs to have eye surgery tomorrow morning in PAP, so they’re spending the night here. She doesn’t know any English and I don’t know nearly enough Creole to understand her, but that doesn’t matter. She knows actions and love. My touch on her pregnant stomach was a raw form of bonding, something I could understand and would, God-willing, experience someday. These people truly understand the gift of life, and it’s a beautiful thing. I wish I knew enough Creole to speak with her, because I know she would have a lot to say. But I don’t, and it’s okay. Because I experienced something that probably seems incredibly minuscule to everyone else. I was able to experience actions speaking louder than words ever could have with that one simple but loving gesture.