"Another Clean-up on Isle 12"

I knew this day would eventually come.  And I should have known that when it did, it would happen in the grocery store.  I have been rehearsing for this monumental event for almost five years.  I have practiced my script almost incessantly.  I knew what I would say, how I would compose myself and what I would be feeling when my eyes begrudgingly met hers--again.

Unfortunately it didn't happen that way.  Stage fright I suppose.  

I had just finished putting the bread into my cart when I noticed her.  The reason I noticed her, or I should say "them," was their uncanny silence.  She was not talking and the kids were not talking.  They were just still.  Still and quiet.  

Nearly stumbling,  I managed to get my cart into the next isle and tried not to throw-up.   I began whispering:  Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe...

I began breathing as if I was going into labor.  "Labor!  Oh yes, labor!  I went through labor!  I have kids.  Everything worked out. Everything is okay!"  I said to myself.

   

Then why am I on the verge of vomiting all over the spelt pasta?  

Okay... calm.  Focus.  Breathe. List.  Grocery list.  Where is the damn grocery list?  Hold still hand!  Cheese.  Cheese.  Where is the damn cheese?  Now just walk.  Walk.  Calm.  Walk. 

I am okay.  Everything is okay.  It's all over.  It's all perfect.  Where is the saline solution?  Everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to happen.  I have to find the saline solution.    Who the hell is in charge of organizing this damn store?  

Somewhere between the cheese and the saline,  I stopped.  I want to see them.   I need to see them.  I turned my cart around and began furtively searching.  

I found them in the self-check out line.  They were still so quiet.  The only sound they made was the sound of the machine scanning their items.  I picked up a box of crackers and stared.  I couldn't see them very well until, for whatever reason, one of the twin boys turned around and faced me.  His deep chocolate eyes matched perfectly his hair.  "Of course," I whispered, "of course that is what you look like."   

What is your name?  Are you okay?  I loved you.  I really, once loved you, a lot.  Before you even took your first breath, I loved you with all my being.  Is your mom a good mom?  Does she cherish you and bake cookies with you?  Does she read to you like I was going to read to you?  Does she sing you silly songs?  Is she teaching you to be a good man?  What are you like?   Are you okay?  Please, please, please be okay.  I have prayed so many times that you are okay.   

I know you don't know me.  I know to you I am only a crazed women in the grocery store who is crying over a box of crackers, but I  know you.  You nearly broke me.  You caused me the greatest heartache of my life.  And I don't know if you will ever know me.  But I think that is okay.  I just want you to be happy.  I really need for you to be okay and safe and happy.  

By this time, I was beginning to really break into the "ugly cry" and I could tell the damn was about to break.  I raced my cart to the check-out stand--on the other side of the store.  

As I walked into the parking lot, there sat their empty race-car grocery cart.  The perfect metaphor to end this worn out chapter of my life.  I wanted to touch it.  I wanted to trace the seat where they had sat with my fingers.  Maybe there would still be a faint scent of them?  Maybe they had left something?  Perhaps a glove or a toy action figure that I could keep.  But there wasn't anything.  It was empty.  

I finally made it to my car and thought, "Would I change anything?  Would I want anything to play out any differently?  No.  Certainly, no.  Because of them I have loved more deeply.  Because of her I have loved more fully.  So everything is okay. It's okay and I can really let go. "   

And there in the Fred Meyer parking lot, I did.