I was next in line at the Starbucks in Target. And as I was wandering a thousand miles away, thinking of events that had unfolded earlier today, the barista leaned over and said, “I’ll be right with you, Brenda.” She knew my name. More than that, she remembered me. I hadn’t stood in that line in months, opting instead to hit up the drive thru on the way home from Zeke’s school or church, lest you think my Starbucks habit is improving. Yet, she remembered. And that spoke volumes to my weary soul.
I sat holding Zeke in the backseat of my car as the sun was setting outside and the light was waning in the garage. It was quiet, aside from his heavy sighs as the tears fell down his cheeks onto my jacket. His sadness was a mixture of things too complicated for him to possibly understand and things so common to all of us. He was brave all day at school – his last day at school – and now he could just be. I crawled into his seat with him and held him as he cried. Telling him tears are ok. Being sad is ok. He could feel all the hurt of saying goodbye to his teacher and his friends, and I could feel it too. And I wished, once again I wished it could be different for him. That everything could be easier. That he could be just like the other kids. Typical, without so many struggles and needs.
