When I was around 20 years old (and playing in a band full time) I would stop by the coffee and donut shop, near my apartment, after the gig.
You’d always find me and several other regulars there, night after night, winding down from our “shifts” with coffee and a donut.
Or was that the reason we were there?
I knew that, for me, it was more about visiting with the woman behind the counter than it was for any coffee or donut—but oh the donut! The reason it was so good was because she knew I liked the maple glazed kind so, when she saw me coming in, she would grab one and put extra maple on it just for me. She’d greet me with a smile and a hug and tell me how happy she was to see me and then she’d always ask how the gig went.
But here’s the best part.
She listened (really listened) to what I had to tell her. She’d laugh and smile her beautiful smile—I mean, who wouldn’t want that coffee and donut?! She made sure I knew I was special and she knew how special she was to me. Then one night, many nights into this coffee shop routine, I looked around the room and saw on the faces of others what I felt inside—welcomed and cared for—I mattered.
If to no one else, I mattered to her and so did they.
I listened to her conversations with them, as much as I listened to my own with her. This woman. This wise and beautiful woman was in her own way…well, healing people and from the inside out. Over the years I watched from across the room as laughter erupted, tears fell and anger subsided. I don’t know what all the stories were about but I do know they were made better by her.
One person. One beautiful, wise, kind and caring woman, really listening to people and making a difference in their lives. What a gift! Making people feel…no, scratch that, making people understand that they matter and sometimes (by my observations) for the first time.
I felt privileged to watch it happen.
I was reminded about those times, just the other day, as I watched my mother from across the room (just as beautiful as she was all those years ago in the donut shop) listening to my Yittle. Listening in that special way that she has always listened, and as I saw the look on my little girl’s face (a look I had seen on so many faces before) I felt privileged all over again. Privileged and grateful that my beautiful children have this beautiful woman in their lives to listen and listen well.
Mom, in case I haven’t told you lately, you pour the best cup of coffee—ever. And, when I grow up, I want to be just…like…you.
Happy Mother’s Day—I love you.