Count on me
Yesterday, mid-afternoon, I stopped what I was doing – delving into the secrets of the world’s longest lived people (research for my new book) – drove down the hill to Lizzie’s favorite coffee kiosk, got her an iced mocha and delivered it to the school cafeteria kitchen where she and her catering class were six hours into a cooking marathon. The marathon, which had begun at 7:30 that morning, would culminate in a complicated, multi-cuisine fundraising event, Global Fusion, that evening.
Lizzie was Chef de Cuisine for the group in charge of cooking Indian food, and she was seriously stressed. She’d been texting me on and off during the day with news about burned sauces and unflaky pastry shells and sore feet. I’d texted back offering my services.
“I’ll be your kitchen slave for an hour,” I wrote.
When she didn’t answer – and really I didn’t expect my offer to be accepted ; this was a class project – I texted her: “Want coffee?”
Immediately, she texted back, “Omg. That would be amazing.” And so I stopped what I was doing and drove 8 miles (R/T) to deliver the mocha.
Why?
It was more than me just being nice. More than sympathizing/ empathizing with her tough day. More, even, than the maternal compulsion to “make it all better.” (With coffee…yeah, I know that’s weird.) It was that I wanted to grab the opportunity to send a particular message: She could always count on me. I would be there to help when she needed me.
I think the sweetest words anyone can say (or hear) are not “I love you.” They are “I’ve got your back.”
To grow up, to walk through life knowing that you can close your eyes and fall backward and someone — your mother – will always be there. She will catch you. Her arms will enfold you. You can rest for a moment, if you need to, against the strength of her body. You can feel the warmth. Even if you never fall back, just knowing that you can, knowing that you’re that safe, is an extraordinary thing. I want my daughter to know that extraordinary thing.
