Little Lost Lambs

Today I saw two lost children, an unusually high number. It doubles my total. 

The first was a girl, about ten. She slowly exited the shoe store behind me, alone. She looked left and right, back and forth. No sense of urgency quickened her movements. 

She chose to begin her search to the right. A few minutes later she passed back by, hand in hand with a security guard, still nonchalant. 

They stopped at Best Buy and talked to an employee for a moment. It wasn’t long before a woman I assumed to be her mother arrived, walking purposefully and talking on her cellphone. She was noticeably irritated, but showed restraint until the security guard gave the girl a quick hug and went about her business elsewhere in the mall. 

Once the uniformed authority figure was out of sight, however, the mother began to loudly berate her daughter, phone still at her face, clutching her child’s arm with fingers curved into painful claws, dragging the girl along behind her. 

I saw no fear in the girl’s eyes, only resignation. 

I recognized myself in those eyes. 

The second was a boy, about seven years old. I saw him walking slowly by himself, and I hadn’t seen anyone with
whom he should have been in the last few clumps of consumers. As he neared, I watched his eyes widen and his panic rise.

When he was close enough, I asked him kindly if he was lost, already knowing the answer. He flinched and darted away like a feral cat. I let him go. 

I looked around for his parents or security, but saw neither. I fixed his description in my mind for security or police, whoever I saw first, but his mother beat them both.

She clutched her blouse tightly over her breastbone, her eyes brimming with tears, and she moved as quickly as possible without breaking into a run. 

I caught her and asked if she was looking for a boy in a yellow striped shirt. Her shaking voice said the words along with me, so I pointed her in the right direction and saw them embrace fifty feet from me. 

I witnessed no screaming, only mutual joy at their reunion. 

And I recognized my siblings. 


Validation, part three: Blogging

Finishing up…

As I’ve said before, I’ve been writing since I could. I love writing. I also love making new (Internet) friends. And I love learning about myself, which I really believe you should never stop doing, as long as you want to.

In the whopping three months since I started this blog, I have come to know and love so many of you. I feel connected enough to hope and dream with you, and I feel comfortable enough to know that you understand when I have to step back for a bit.

But I’m still afraid. So many of you have told me to feel free to email you of I need anything, if there’s anything you can do, if I just need someone to talk to. And believe me, sometimes I want to, so badly. But I’m still afraid.

It’s like only two kinds of people exist in my world, ‘me fix,’ and ‘ew, cooties.’ I know in my heart that you don’t fit those molds, that no one does exactly, but it is such a huge undertaking to change one’s entire worldview.

It doesn’t even make sense to me, and it’s my explanation. Because I can’t even say that I divide all the real life people I know into those two categories. My sister and I didn’t always get along, it’s oh so true, but she has been the one person that I can turn to in the past year who will just listen, not fix, not run.

I don’t know what I’m really trying to say, except thank you for having the potential to be that way, even if I never give you the opportunity to prove it. Thank you for making me feel welcome when I can’t make myself feel welcome. Thank you for being such wonderful, amazing people. Thank you for being my friends.