It was Sunday afternoon in late February '08 and I had offered to take my youngest daughter on a Mom/Daughter date to a local shopping mall. We had not done this alone very many times due to her age, as well as the fact that we were seldom without her older sister. We had it all planned out by about ten that morning.
We decided to go to church and then I would take her to the big mall. It would begin with our lunch date at a relatively nice restaurant just inside the mall entrance. I was fortunately given a $30 gift card as a Christmas gift and could not think of a better way to spend it than with my little girl!
The next stop would be at her favorite store where she had a $100 gift card from Christmas.
We were both thrilled with our plans. She was overjoyed about all the things she could buy with that much money and I was elated to reap the joys of providing my child with the pleasure of a nice meal as well as getting something new. I was thankful for the gift cards. Without them, we would NOT be planning such a day. I did not even have one dollar in my wallet.
We were a little late to church, about thirty minutes actually, but I was determined I was NOT going to miss again. I can probably count on both hands how many times I had attended a service in the past six months. After a couple of very deep heart to heart talks with my oldest daughter in the past week, it became obvious I needed to get that changed back to the way it had been and should have remained. I have taken her most every Sunday and Wednesday, but I drop her off and go back to get her. For some reason, every part of going to church has been one of the hardest things to get past since my separation and divorce.
Getting ready without a whole family and then traveling there without a Dad driving our car was unnatural. Walking in as the leader/head of my family instead of on the arm of the leader/head of the family made me feel like part of me was missing. I tried to smile confidently as the faces came into view displaying looks of concern, questions, sadness and some who were just curious. I did not enjoy escorting myself to my own seat or sitting in the congregation feeling like a zebra in the midst of a field of horses. All of the married couples were magnified, they were EVERYWHERE. As I saw a husband with his arm around his wife, and the wife content under the shelter of his arm, I felt unprotected.
I noticed how comfortable and normal everyone else appeared . . . It is still a bit uncomfortable and painful. It very well may be, but it was time to suck it up and get over it. Life was going on, my kids were learning by my example and I needed the benefits of scheduled, group “God/Jesus time” every week. I decided I had given myself enough time. I explained, not excused, my actions to my daughter and promised her I would get through my struggles and get back on track.
That is exactly what I did, and it went pretty well. I sat way up in the balcony . . . in the last row . . . but all the same, I WAS sitting in church. I attempted to be invisible and hoped no one would notice me and my uncomforableness (if that is even a word.) I took my oldest daughter to the early service and came back home to get ready with my youngest.
She had been sick, so that was a tempting excuse to delay my entrance back into this uncomfortable situation. However, she was better. I had to be brave. I decided to make a big change in attempt to make some part of the situation feel a little different and hopefully easier. We decided not to wear dresses like we always did; instead, we dressed casually. We found a good parking spot, sat up in a hidden place in the balcony and really enjoyed the sermon. After it was over, we headed straight for the mall.
It surprisingly rained on the drive there, but we were still pumped up about our afternoon. We parked near the entrance of the “gift certificate restaurant,” which was coincidentally located near her “gift certificate store.”
There was a five minute wait before we could be seated, so my little girl and I sat on the bench in front of the restaurant near the entrance to the jam-packed mall. We both quickly fell silent in awe as our eyes were over stimulated with the commotion and activity swarming in front of us. There were so many people, all within the same space, but all remaining in their own private world.
We saw young people, old people, small people and large people. Some were wearing smiles and others had irritable frowns; some talking while walking, others silently moving across the floor. There were lots of strollers and a few wheelchairs rolling in front of us as though it was some sort of street. It was obvious some people were clearly “regulars” to the mall scene by the way they fit in so comfortably, while others were noticeably on a special treat outing.
I noticed people walking alone, and then . . . those who were there as a family. I fell into a trance.
There they were: the mom, dad and kids, all walking together . . . just like we had always done. They were living MY life, the one I had always known and now it was gone. I looked at them and saw their life. It was not fair. I began to feel the pain and feel sorry for myself as well as my children. My heart and mind focused on my deep loss and a harsh reality arose. I am now a single mom.
I resentfully wondered if the families even appreciated what they had. These people did not even realize how fortunate they were and how good they had it.
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I am startled back to reality by a woman’s soft, gentle voice.
“Excuse me Miss. I could not help but notice you and your little girl sitting together. She looks just like you. It took my mind back to a place my heart will never forget. I just wanted to tell you to hold tightly to these moments with your precious child, they are memories you will always treasure. I loved when I was in your shoes and I would love to experience it all over again, just one more time. I know that can not happen and I am not angered or envious to see the two of you . . . in fact it warms my heart to be reminded what I have experienced and the love I have felt and know is real. I lost my daughter a year ago. Everyone said she looked just like me too. I am sorry for staring.
I was simply remembering . . . and just wanted you to know what you have . . . right here on this bench.”
I sat in silence.
I had focused on what I did not have and envied someone else’s blessing and gift of a moment. Maybe, I was even a bit angry. I had completely overlooked what I did have and had lost my gratefulness. It is a truth that no matter what, someone will always have it better than you . . . and you will always have it better than someone else.
Little did I know, as I sat seeing someone else in a place I wished I could be, another set of eyes was viewing me in the same light. To her, I “had it all.”
She was right. I would not trade that moment and memory with my child for anything. I took my daughter shopping, hand in hand, with a smile on my face and thankfulness in my heart. I was not wishing I was anyone else. I was just happy to be me.
Kasi M. Bryon
© 2008
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