By Alex Iwashyna, blogger at Late Enough
I wanted to write a funny Valentine’s day piece, but I just can’t get Saturday morning out of my head.
I was at a coffee shop in line behind a little girl and her mom. The dark-haired girl, who was may have been five, turned to her mom and said, I love you, Mama, in the sweetest voice.
Even pre-coffee, I smiled.
The mom said nothing.
I waited. Confused. She didn’t even glance at the little girl. Here I was with my HOW SWEET smile ready for that mama and she just stood there. And then finished her order and moved down the line.
I’ve never seen even any mom waste an opportunity to look good in front of other people. And what looks better than your child adoring you? It screams I’M AN AWESOME MOM.
But I let it go. Brief glimpses into other people’s lives are unfair, and I’m sure that my children have spoken to me while I was lost in thought.
About twenty minutes later, we are sitting near the mom and her daughter by chance, and the daughter looks up at her mom and again says: I love you, Mama.
Silence. I don’t even think that the mom looked up.
My heart hurt.
Eventually, a grandma showed up and made all the appropriate oohs and aahs over the child. Grandma even stopped me to ask about my children who are completely uninterested in telling me how much they love me. They would have probably mentioned loving apple juice and cream cheese if pressed.
I kept glancing at this mother.
Now, I hate being ignored. Maybe it’s why I’ve wielded it as my weapon of choice against people who wrong me. And maybe that’s why the scenario bothered me so much.
I don’t know.
The mom didn’t look hung over or strung out. She just seemed off. Like a light switch. Or a robot. She went through all the motions but had nothing behind them.
Perhaps she just lost another child. Or her husband. And all she has is the act of living.
Perhaps she’s a psychopath. Devoid of the ability to connect with other human beings. (All right, all right, I’ve been watching Dexter.)
I didn’t understand. But my urge to hug the little girl, who told me she played soccer and princesses, was so intense.
I’d rather have yelled at my kids in the car (which I did and it sucked) than have lost the ability to swoon when my son tells me that he loves me.
I hope for the little girl’s sake that it was a glitch in the day. I hope that she isn’t a little girl who only gets a Valentine’s Day once a year.
When she should be getting one everyday.
Now excuse me while I go hug my children.
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