When I was ordered to remain speechless for three weeks, my daughter was eight-years-old and my son was eleven. Trying to communicate through writing during the first days of my sickness proved to be a failure. It was very tiring and time consuming. After few days my anger escalated and I started to avoid communicating at all. I spent most of my evenings alone and interacted with my family the least possible. But this didn’t last for long. My kids were young and they needed me, I knew it. My best friend visited me and I wrote to her my problem. Together we came out with the idea; using a sign language. My daughter was the one who picked it, I went on making signs with my hands and she translated. She became my voice at home. Instead of writing, I depended on her in my daily rituals to transform my signs into words.
For many years I had complained that my daughter was unlike the three of us; my husband, her brother and me. She’s not organised and she’s hyperactive. Working as a translator for a mute person at the age of eight and doing it happily while always wearing a smile made me see my daughter with a different lens. My girl is different; she’s unique and she’s so special.
I learned to appreciate unlikeness and to celebrate differences between human beings. I understood that people were meant to complete one another and that real success comes from diversity.
Read the intro to this series of articles at: