A Journey

I’m a politics junky. I’d watch political news 24/7 if I could (Scott stops me, thankfully).

But last Friday, it was unbearable to watch. So I took myself down 19 floors and across the street to the spa. My escape was a four hour package, perfectly timed over the noon hour I needed to avoid.

When I spa, I don’t want to chat. I don’t want to hear chat. I want to be numb to let my brain go quiet for a few hours in a magical place. My poor mind is on overdrive most of my waking hours. Let there be peace.

I never even really make eye contact with my spa team. I don’t want to connect. I don’t want my curious side to start asking question because that starts chatting.

The esthetician retrieved me in the heavenly waiting room. I was wonderfully cocooned in a fluffy robe and warm neck wrap.   I shook her hand, and she led me to the candle lit treatment room. I responded in syllables and nods. “Please,” my mind begged, “Do not engage me.”

Laying face up, she started to massage my weary shoulders and neck.  Almost purring, she started to lament about of how we women take on so many burdens.

As she massaged my temples and cheeks, she asked if I was married, had children. In already a dreamy haze, I mumbled, “Yes,” breaking my no chat rule.

Her melodious voice told me her story. Cleansers, scrubs, exfoliants, masks and serums flowed as I heard how she was raised in India by college professors, married, welcomed two babies, then lost her beloved to cancer.

“We women don’t give up. We do, we go where we must.”

So she brought her young baby girls to America, where hope is a beacon for immigrant women and their fatherless daughters. And I asked questions. How did this mother do it all alone?

She was wiping away some potion, and she wiped away my tears. Her story of hard work and devotion quieted my  mind by filling my heart.  Her daughters, I learned, are now college graduates.

As she and I hugged in the beautiful waiting room when our chat was over, she whispered, “We mothers are on this journey together.”

As I watched the miraculous marches a day later, her words echoed as tears again flowed.

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