I come home from work, feeling unsettled, exhausted and nauseous. I crawl up the stairs and flop on my bed, stealing a ten minute rest before I get dinner started. I hear my 11 year old from the door of my room “Mommy, what’s wrong with you?” “Just having a quick rest, my tummy doesn’t feel well.” No response. A few seconds later a little body curls up beside on my bed, and my boy puts his arm around me and rubs my back, just like I do for him when his tummy is sore. I don’t say a word, but just enjoy our closeness. Lucky Mom.
Another day, I pick up the phone to hear some devastating news. I hang up and immediately dissolve into tears, my head in my hands. I hear my daughter put down her lunch, and quietly walk over to me, where she wraps me in a tight hug, without saying a word. She gives me comfort, and I pull myself together borrowing from her strength.