I was thinking about an experience I had watching Hamilton last year.
Eliza and Alexander plead with their son to stay alive.
Moments later, he’s dies.
His parents cry over his body.
I know that moment.
I know what it’s like to touch my daughter’s face and hands for the last time.
To pray and scream in my head, please just stay alive.
I glanced around the theater. Tears ran down cheeks and sniffles filled the quiet of their moment.
They were feeling for Alexander and Eliza’s unimaginable loss.
And in so doing, felt part of my loss as well.
For a second we were connected in our grief.
That’s the true miracle of sharing our stories and listening to people’s experiences.
It connects.
It broadens our understanding.
It allows us to grow in who and how we love.
As I looked around the theater, having this transcendental experience, a hand touched mine, bringing me back to reality.
My son.
A physical connection to provide comfort for our shared understanding of that painful moment of loss.
Is there anything greater we can do than truly connect with one another?
Rory Ann Moore Foundation 