Fourth Grade Memories, A Daughter's Care, & Counting On Support
Last week on Thursday eve, when our daughter was getting a few things ready for camp, she asked if she could take a corn muffin for lunch.
Sure, we’ll just have to put it in a hard container so it doesn’t crumble.
Next thing I know, I’m thinking about an incident I had in Miss Lewis' 4th grade class. She'd invited us to bring a dish for a Thanksgiving potluck, and I volunteered to bring dessert. My dad made deliciously fluffy pumpkin bars with melt-in-your-mouth cream cheese frosting.
After lunch, when she broke the news it was time for our potluck, I ran to my locker to grab the bars, only to realize I’d made a big mistake: I left the pan turned upright in my backpack.
I couldn't believe my eyes when I looked under the lid and saw a big pile of mush.
I paced back and forth from my locker to the classroom door for what felt like an eternity, too embarrassed to return empty-handed and too embarrassed to take them inside.
A lump in my throat formed as I held back tears.
This time as the memory resurfaced, however, I let the tears flow freely.
Meanwhile, our daughter, who was still next to me on the couch, looked at me and saw tears streaming down my face. I giggled to myself at the thought of her wondering, "Is she crying over me taking a corn muffin for lunch??"
But in true Beckitt fashion, she crawled onto my lap, drew herself toward my chest and kissed me smack on the lips. I pulled her in closer, and told her, “I’m okay, I was just thinking about something sad that happened when I was little.”
She hopped off my lap and told me she’d be right back.
As she returned, she was holding my baby blanket, which I’d pulled from the linen closet a few weeks earlier. (Somehow it’s survived 8000 washings and 4 moves in the last 3 years. I think our destiny is clear.)
I sat there marveling at her kindness as she draped it over my legs.
"Thank you for knowing just the right thing," I whispered.
What Beckitt didn’t know is that my baby blanket reminds me of Grandma Michel, my dad's awesome mom.
I never had the chance to meet Grandma Mary, but her spirit and energy have remained vitally present in my life over the years. Nothing, it seems, is too big, or too much, for Grandma Mary's unconditionally loving spirit, including my tears about screwed-up pumpkin bars in 4th grade.
One of the things I'm struck by more and more these days is the notion that support isn't always something we have to arduously seek out.
There will inevitably be people and things who show-up when we need them. Whether or not we notice - and receive - their presence as supportive is another story! Usually, because of the negativity bias, we're too preoccupied with stress to catch the simple, but meaningful ways life is lending a caring hand.
Sometimes, it's a kind look from a child or partner in a down moment; sometimes, it’s a comforting touch of a hand (yours or someone else's) on the arm; and, sometimes, it's a tree swaying in your neighbor's yard that reminds you of your own ability to be both rooted and flexible.
We don't always know what it will be, but we're invited over and over to wonder about the ways our biology - and beyond - can bring us timely support, and help us feel more connected during our struggles.
May the summer sun illuminate support near and far,
Breon
P.S. Speaking of support, I'm here for you! Sometimes we hear a whisper to reach out for support, but because we’ve been conditioned to do it ourselves or appear okay, follow-through can be hard. If you're challenged by loss or anxiety, or know a young adult who needs guidance on an important next step, there are still a few spots available for discounted summer sessions ($20 off until August 1). First, let's chat to see if we're a good fit!