One Person

One person. One single person. That's all it takes. One person to notice -- to pay attention -- to listen -- to care -- to express interest.

I was lucky I had 3. Three people in my childhood who loved me. The real, genuine, true me. They probably never knew how important they were. They were all dead by the time I had the words to express what they had done for me. The gift they had given me.

And last night I got a chance to be on the other side of that coin. I got to help a little kid who's been having a hard time. I got to be his safe person for 15 hours or so. And I was scared. I was scared I'd do something wrong. Make things worse. Not fix things.

But here's what really happened. I did some stuff wrong, but he didn't care. I didn't make things worse. I made it better, if only for a little while. I didn't fix things, but it still helped. And I don't feel like I really did anything special or significant at all.

Here's what I did. I picked him up from school in my convertible. I fed him animal crackers. I let him pet my dogs. I took him for a walk and let him take a bath in my oversized tub. 

I fed him and talked to him and listened. I let him play outside with a flashlight after dinner. I let him sit in the swinging chair and watch Netflix (The Very Hungry Caterpillar). I read him a story and tucked him in bed. And I kissed him on the head, twice, because I could. And he slept through the night, and woke up happy.

I took him to school and he asked when he could come back. Soon, very soon I promised. He told me he liked me, and I told him I liked him too, a lot. And he said he'd miss me. And all I can think is -- I didn't do anything. How can it mean so much?

This is what I know is true -- even though I don't really get it, I was his one person last night. And I hope I can be again and again and again.

linking up with Five Minute Friday