Dropped ten-year-old off at football practice and headed to run a few errands last night. Eight-year-old upon realizing that we weren't going straight home, burst into tears. Now, I know my little man enough to say that yes, he does indeed sometimes cry over nothing, and can be quite sensitive and pouty--but this cry was one of those "different" crys--it said, "I'm feeling left out--and I just wanted to go home and maybe play with the neighbors a bit". Of course eight-year-old didn't articulate this--but I could see it in gasps he was trying to smother in-between tears.
The problem was, that I had to make at least one more stop--needed a present for a wedding this weekend. So, eight-year-old withdrew himself from the backseat and then wrapped his arms around me in the store parking lot trying to get his crying under control. I was not the least upset with him, nor self-concious--just let him hug me until he gathered himself up. He still had his arm around me as we entered the store, so we were moving a bit slowly. I caught then out of the back corner of my eye, a woman walking patiently behind us as we were blocking her way. We quickly moved on and I nodded an apology at her.
A few minutes later in the pasta aisle, the same woman approached eight-year-old with a very calm, soothing voice, took his chin in her hand and said, "what a beautiful face."He was shy, but I could feel his body next to mine relax--and mine with his. She stood there grounded and calm, and as if this were the most natural thing in the world--to approach a stranger and her child and to offer her presence. And it WAS the most natural thing in the world. I used to love that show, "Touched by an Angel"--corny and sappy as it was, I was/am enamored by the idea of people moving in and out of our lives in ways that we can't/don't even fathom--for the sole purpose of offering love and peace.
Eight-year-old steadied himself to finally meet her gaze and nodded at her. She smiled again and told him that he is beautiful, and then lightly touched my arm as she went on her way. I mouthed a heartfelt "thank you" to her, and the moment was over. Except that it isn't. Twenty-four hours later, I'm still thinking about it. And while filled-up by this act, I also feel a lovely debt to be this woman for another Mom.
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