Why, hello. I am sorry you caught me staring at you and your family the other day in the grocery store. Twice. Okay, maybe you noticed me in all three aisles. I am sorry if my stares or expression hurt or offended you.
The thing is, I really can’t help myself. She is absolutely beautiful.. And your parenting is absolutely amazing.
Really, she is gorgeous. I should know, I gawked at her the whole time I shared an aisle with the three of you.
As you were squinting, browsing for salsa or refried beans and gripping the handles of her chair, your son (maybe nine or so?) pushed the cart and added items with your permission. I pushed my own cart down the opposite side of the aisle. I grabbed my can of SpaghettiOs and turned and just looked at her. One hand almost neatly tucked beside her petite frame, and the other contorted a bit up towards her face, playing with her bottom lip. She was kind of singing or humming. And she was smiling.
She (I feel awful not having a proper pronoun to give to her) made eye contact with me for a second, and I immediately looked away. I was a little embarrassed that she caught me. As I turned back to my own buggy, the humming stopped.
Feeling like a jerk, I pushed my cart on down and away. But then, our paths crossed in the frozen foods section. As I turned and drew nearer to you, I heard you asking her which ice cream she wanted, vanilla or strawberry. She didn’t really respond to either. Your son complained that he wanted rocky road with the chocolate covered peanuts, but you rested your hand on his shoulder and patiently reminded him “honey, we can’t. Sissy cannot have anything hard or else she might choke.” He replied “I know. Sorry, mom. Sorry, Sis,” and he reached over and tickled her chin a bit. Sissy giggled from her chair and rocked a little too hard, hitting a glass jar of hot fudge out of your hand and onto the floor. It shattered.
Before anything else was said, Sissy began to wail and moan and release guttural sounds from deep inside herself, and rock her body in her chair. I was panicking on the inside. I didn’t know what to do, or how to help, so I just stood there. I was almost a little afraid I would offend you if I offered help; that somehow I would have been saying that I didn’t think you could do it on your own. And you absolutely could.
Without even missing a beat, you said nothing about the broken glass jar and started singing the same tune as Sissy had been humming three aisles back. You stroked her pink cheek and pushed the dark brown hair that was sticking to tears from her face. She resisted and arched her back, pushing her torso closer but her face farther from you. You pushed her chair a little away from the mess and got down to her level. I wanted to look away, to give your family the privacy I assume you wanted, but I simply couldn’t.
You gently took her face in the cups of your palms. She hit you. You didn’t let go or get mad. You said, “hey sis. Sissy. It’s okay. Come back out here with mama.” She wailed again. My eyes watered. By this point, a few other shoppers stopped and watched, as well. She was so upset that she was drooling and spitting as she carried on. You kept on, remained steady “Shhh. It’s okay sissy. Find mama’s eyes. Breathe with me.” She began to quiet, to listen, to come back to you. You were such a pro at this that I began breathing with the exaggerated breathe in…breathe out rhythm you established. Shortly after, she was calm and content again. Her eyes still glazed with tears as you gently caressed her cheek with the back of your index finger. She cooed and smiled back at you as an infant would. Through the chaos, your son had cleaned most of the mess up with baby wipes from your bag and a store associate came to finish cleaning. The crowd moved on. But not me. I was frozen there, in awe. As you walked by me, You sweetly turned your face to me and smiled.
You and your family walked on past. Like life was still normal (well, whatever normal is) and nothing had just happened. And I stood there, dumbfounded next to the Ben & Jerry’s, perplexed. I was in total amazement at how gracefully and plainly you handled it. You are obviously the best mom ever. I fret so much over the repercussions of telling Little Mister “no” in the market. And you just handled something much larger with more poise and tact than anyone I have ever seen. I gathered my thoughts, grabbed my list, and assumed I wouldn’t see you again because had that been me, I would have probably gave up on shopping for the day and told myself that peanut butter sandwiches and ramen noodles would be fine again.
A couple aisles down I was crouching, checking dates on half gallons of milk. And then, the humming again. You all had just turned the corner and I was at eye level only a few feet from her. I turned toward your daughter, and when our eyes met her adorably over bitten mouth smiled and she slowly turned her head from one side to the other. Her smile made me smile. It melted me a little. A lot. As she slowly blinked, it was as though her eyes contained the light of a purely beautiful, expressive, and wise soul, and it was apparent that her words were not meant for this world, for my world. But her smile sure was. She let out a snort of a laugh and covered her mouth, and I scrunched up my nose, giggled, and stood up. That’s the second time I know you caught me. “She’s truly precious” I said. You simply nodded and said, “Thanks”. We didn’t see one another again though.
You, my dear, are a spectacular mother. I hardly doubt you had planned on having a child who would be so dependent upon you, so differently designed, but I am quite sure that God planned on having that very child especially made for you. You were so in sync with her needs and wants. You were present with both your son and your daughter. You didn’t panic in times that most of us would have. You are my hero.
You see, fellow mom, I want to be more like you. I want to not worry about what people think of me or my kids or my situation. I want to just live it and own it and not feel the need to apologize for everything I do. I want to love my child so much that even when he does something that shatters what I want or hope for, I still have the will and strength to meet him where he is, and wait patiently for him to find his way back to me in this world; and I won’t apologize to anybody for it, because I will be confident that we were just being us, and that we are okay.
I wrote you this letter because you inspire me. I don’t know who you are or if you’re even from around here. But I hope I see you again. Next time I won’t be so shy, I will offer help, I will ask how your day is. Thank you, random, awesome mom, because your unique experience teaches people like me a million ways our parenting could be better from one interaction in a supermarket. You’re simply awesome.
Sincerely,
Laura
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22.I finally found the time to mail a package to a friend that I was supposed to send a month ago!! Oops! But now it’s off my todo list
23. Jase had his monthly in home appointment with the lady we work with on his language and well as emotional and behavioral deficits/struggles. She asked me if I had a degree in early childhood education and said that she was shocked I didn’t! What a compliment!
24. Today would have been my Nana’s 87th birthday!! Celebrating her in my soul today!!! Love her still.
Me, Rediscovered. 