Pharmacy Technician.

We made the trek up to Kaiser Permanente as we do every other week to get my medication. I typically have Kendal drive me because I hurt when I drive for any longer than 20 minutes or so and I sometimes get a little anxious about being able to handle the kids by myself, again, because of pain.

But today we did it, just me and the two little ones.

The kids were bundled as they bounced out of the Yukon. I had little Abe-Man on my hip. I had a firm grasp on impulsive Silas as we walked across the parking lot. Abe made the slow slip down my non-existant waist and down came my purse, with the straps laying somewhere between my shoulder and the inside crook of my arm. My jacket was becoming untied around my middle and my hair was all frizzy from the tight bun I wore the night before. I am sure I looked like I was a that mother I "never wanted to be".

We waltzed in ever so gracefully and Abe's big brown eyes caught the eye of the technician helping us. As she starred at the little man she said "boy you have your hands full," of course, I

responded with, "this is just half of them." We chatted politely about kids and how busy they are and how much work it takes to raise them.

She went on to say that her kids were pretty easy to raise. I asked, "did you have girls?". She let me know she had two girls and one son. She bragged on one of her daughters about how good she was and easy to raise. And to this day she is just great.

Then her tone changed a bit and said that it was her son that gave her issues....and at 28 years old.

I was sympathetic, knowing there was a story behind what she just said.

With her head down, which I assume was some, due to shame, she said that her son was sent to prison for 19 years.

When she lifted her head, I was intentional about my eye contact with her and in a gentle voice said, "I'm so sorry."

There was a line starting to form behind us. I could tell there was pressure to just get the job done, but I also could feel the natural pull to comfort, and I think she felt the need to speak it.

Bless her heart.

She chatted a few sentences about how you only see that kind of stuff on TV and in agreement said something about that being so difficult to have to go through. I was hoping she would feel understood.

She looked up from the task at hand and said something along the lines of, "I feel like it was such a waste, all that work raising him and it all went out the window."

I told her, "You did what you were supposed to do in raising him and he made a choice."

She nodded her head in agreement and mentioned she just needed to let it go...again, quiet and gently, "Gosh, I am just so sorry."

We said our traditional "Have a good day" to each other, and I grabbed my little guys hands and we slowly shuffled out of the pharmacy. Abe in his "too big" boots and Silas in his "too big" jogging pants made for a slow walk.

I couldn't help but ponder the future of my children. What will their choices be...I am trying to teach them properly, to guide them, to direct them, to watch over them, to protect them, to foster their dreams, to encourage them towards good...and then they choose. What will they choose?

Although thoughts of my boys rushed through my head, my real attention went to caring for someone else's hurt, for her heart. The pharmacy technician, who's son is in prison. Her hurt shows on her face and I hope for just a moment she felt cared for. That she had an emotional release that allowed for her to breathe deep for even just a moment. She has a story to share and I am thankful to know a bit about her and that the next time I chat with her I can carry just a bit more of her burden.