Thank you, Mama…

“Thank you, mama,” she said.  And after holding me for what seemed like a long few seconds, she left with her dad.

It was her First Holy Communion, an important occasion for us. We had prepared for this all of second grade. She was now in third. Due to COVID-19 closures, we had waited impatiently since April. Six months later, she had her day.

My daughter. My precious child.

Dressed in a long white gown of her choosing, proud as ever. I was more proud than she could ever imagine. I chose the perfect blue dress, the color of the skies in Los Angeles. Lace trimmed, complimented with beige heels adorned with pearls.

This was the special day.

It didn’t fall on my weekend. I had to ask permission to pick her up early in the morning. She wanted her hair curled and half of it put up under her veil. She wanted mascara on her lashes. And the color of her rose on her cheeks. She wanted me to put her long dress on, one that was bordered with gold and lace.

She wanted her mommy and I said, “I’ll do my best.”

I was afraid I would fail. I was scared I couldn’t curl her hair enough. Inside I feared I wouldn’t look my best for her. Outside I was calm, collected. The way a swan would be on the gentle ripple in a lake. Never faltering. Always gracious.

The night dragged by. I couldn’t get closer to morning as quickly as I wanted to. Yet I couldn’t fall asleep. The thought of not waking and missing it made me worried. It kept me up all night. And before the alarm could ring, I was up. Coffee in hand. Dashing for the door to pick her up.

There she was. My beautiful daughter.

She waited for me on the steps outside her father’s home. She had a Capri Sun in her hand. Her face beamed as I pulled up. She had just woken up I could tell. And when she jumped into the car, she told me she could barely sleep either.

That made both of us.

Yet we were excited, radiating with the thought of getting her all dressed up. It was her big day and I could only imagine the day when she would get married.

I brushed the thought from my mind, trying to focus on what I needed to do first when we got home.

She was patient with me. Cheerful and smiling the entire time. Her hands reached out ever so often to touch the ensemble of beauty products and hair styling tools I prepared on the table the night before. I could tell she was excited but she controlled it all so well.

Was my little girl growing too fast?

In an hour she was ready and once again we bolted out the door. She would meet her father and brother at the church. As she gently propped herself into the car and lifted her gown inside the door, I couldn’t help but notice that she was watching my every move.  As if trying to anticipate what to do to stay out of my way as I hurried along to get her there.

Each time I tried to help her, or adjust something on her, she would say “thank you, mama.” I would smile each time. But nothing struck me like the one she whispered in my ear before she left.

Thank you, Mama.

My heart had stopped for a moment. I don’t think I remember placing my feet on the ground. I don’t recall moving when I heard those words. Nor do I remember much for a few minutes.

Her words came like a revelation out from the clouds. I understood what they meant. Yet I failed to comprehend how much everything meant to her. I knew as her mother I was doing my job. But I never expected it to leave such a strong note in the chords of her day, or her life.

In the midst of all the excitement and accomplishment of the day, as thrilled as she was to have received her communion, she did not forget to show me her appreciation. She did not forget all the work I had done that morning. And she did not forget who made it happen for her.

For such a tender age, it’s hard to imagine she would ever think twice about me getting her hair up. But she did.

For such an eventful day, I wouldn’t imagine she would remember to pause to say thanks. But she did.

For such a memorable moment, no one could have thought that she would place any importance of the hours we took to get ready. But she did.

For the first time, I knew that my efforts were not in vain.

She said “thank you, mama” even though she was being rushed off to leave.

Her words touched my heart and melted every ounce in me. It was all worth it. Everything I’ve ever done that I thought would be forgotten was worth it. All the years I thought I was just doing my job was all worth it.

It was bittersweet leaving her that morning. But I knew she would be back home soon. It wasn’t my weekend and what more could I have asked for. Then, I knew then that my little girl was growing up and she was growing well.

I spent the entire afternoon sobbing in bed, reminiscing her words and embrace. I knew I had done my job. And I had done it well.

My motherhood journey.