The Question No Parent Is Ever Ready For.

Some moments in parenting arrive quietly, without warning—yet they leave an imprint that never fades.

They often come in between routines: on car rides, in bedtime whispers, or during the stillness of everyday life. One such moment returned to me recently, tucked away like a folded letter in my memory. It was the day my older daughter asked the question. The one I had both anticipated and feared.

We were in the car—just the two of us—when Celine, my older daughter, turned to me with a look of curiosity and concern. She must have been around five or six at the time. At that age, she could already recite her sister’s diagnosis: “hypoplastic left heart syndrome.” She’d heard the phrase so many times in doctors’ offices that it had become part of her vocabulary. She didn’t yet understand its meaning, but she could repeat it easily.

That day, though, her question went deeper. Her voice was soft but serious: “Mom, why is Lara the way she is?”

My heart sank. I felt a lump rise in my throat and tears well in my eyes. I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, knowing I had to keep it together. I knew this was one of those sacred moments where a child is asking not just for information—but for reassurance, truth, and comfort.

How do you explain to a young child why their sister was born with so many challenges? How do you make sense of it when it breaks your own heart?

I took a deep breath and used an analogy I had carried in my mind for moments like this.

I told her that when a baby is growing in a mommy’s belly, it’s kind of like putting together a beautiful puzzle. Every piece has a place—tiny pieces that make up the heart, the brain, the hands, the lungs. But sometimes, one of those puzzle pieces is missing or doesn't quite fit the way it’s supposed to. And when that happens, the picture isn’t complete in the way we expect—but it’s still a picture. It’s still made with love. It’s just different.

I explained that Lara’s heart didn’t grow in the usual way, and that’s why she needed extra help. I told her that no one knows exactly why these things happen, but that Lara’s life was precious, and she was loved just as she was.

Celine listened quietly. She didn’t ask any more questions. She just turned to the window and looked outside, lost in thought. And I kept driving, holding back my tears, holding space for the weight of her wonder.

That conversation stayed with me long after the drive ended. It was one of the hardest moments I’ve experienced as a mother—not because I didn’t have words, but because no words could fully explain why some lives begin with so many hurdles.

Yet in that fragile moment, I also witnessed love deepening—between two sisters, and between a mother and her child.

Some questions don’t have easy answers. But sometimes, offering a gentle truth, a metaphor from the heart, and simply sitting with the mystery together—that can be enough.