Her hand reached for mine as I stood in the doorway, partially hidden, and trembling. Tears streamed down my eleven-year-old face. I was completely distraught. Destroyed. I felt as though my feet had rooted to the wooden floors that creaked beneath me. I was immobile. Powerless. Her eyes filled with compassion as she looked at my disheveled appearance. She modified her position on the oversized loveseat, lowered her hand, and patted the empty space next to her. I struggled. I wanted to sit beside her. I wanted to let it all go. I wanted to feel better. But I was hurting. Empty. Overwhelmed.
She looked at me, raised her arm, and playfully wiggled the fingers on her outstretched hand. She waited patiently as I considered my rather limited options. I watched as she gently set her book on the floor, lifted the blanket, and motioned once again for me to join her. The invitation was there. I could choose to move toward her, toward assistance, or I could choose to remain static – stuck. I reluctantly inched forward and allowed her hand to envelop mine. A lifeline. Safety in an emotional storm. I plopped beside her, shoulders shaking, and sobbed. “I wish . . .,” I choked back the tears as I fought for breath. I tried again. “I want . . .,” my voice cracked. I could not think of anything terrible enough to say. I was frantically searching for the words to release the enormous pain I felt.
She breathed deeply, gave my hand a gentle squeeze, and sighed. With the faith of a child, I waited for her to make it all better. She gently lifted my chin, straightened my shoulders, and pushed the damp hair from my swollen eyes. She paused, pointedly studied my features, and carefully selected her words. “Things are rarely as they seem. Choose to be kind.”
“But . . .,” I began. She lovingly placed a finger on my quivering lips. “Angry words will not change what happened or how you feel. You cannot control how life unfolds. You cannot control what others say and do. You can only control how you respond – how you choose to carry yourself. Words have power. Be mindful of what you say.”
I leaned into her warm and loving body as she gently placed her arm around my defenseless shoulders. We sat in silence as I considered her words. After a few moments, I breathed deeply, wiped my tear-stained face, and turned to meet her gaze.
She smiled encouragingly as she lovingly touched my cheek. “Whatever happens in life, stand strong in your power, remain true to yourself, and remember that you are the author of your life story.”