I never understood advocacy until I witnessed the connection between my daughters. I haven’t handed Laurel anything in the last year without being immediately prompted with “June bug.” Her hand open and truly grasping equality, empathy, altruism.

I haven’t heard June cry out without another voice echoing in the room to broaden awareness to the situation. When June gets her leg stuck in a crib, or falls over when reaching for a toy, Laurel is always there.

I haven’t crawled through a tunnel or sat in a fort or a tent without hearing “June Bug” directed at me as a stern command. Laurel sees an empty space without June there.

I haven’t seen a day go by where Laurel hasn’t worked all day long to keep Juniper safe, happy and involved.

I remember a time when I worried about struggling to balance my attention between my two girls. But I don’t worry about that as much anymore. In a sense, they are one. 

Sometimes when June is upset I have to ask Laurel what is wrong and often she can tell me. They have a language. They understand one another. They listen to one another more than anyone else can. They’ve known one another longer than anyone else has. The same blood runs through their veins.

The difference of a few genes is smaller in their world than it’s seen by many others. It’s so small that it can’t even be seen. All Laurel and June can see is one another. All they can be are themselves. 

It’s an incredible thing to watch. 

When Juniper takes her first steps, Laurel will take them with her. And in the meantime, she takes steps for her.