Every child has a time in their life when they get lost-physically, mentally, or spiritually. But this story isn’t about the average kid talking back to their parents and rebelling-it’s about how much our parents do actually look after us, and how traumatic getting lost can be.

Maybe I didn’t want to have a regular life. I normally would let my curiosity get in the way of things-running around the house like a twerp with butter in my hand and eating it, picking up the phone to hear my mother talking, or sticking out my tongue at my brother when my mom had her back turned-I even bit my sister’s shoulder once. But anyways, all of these things would get me into trouble. And one thing I did more than getting into trouble, was taking my mom’s presence for granted. She would always look out for me, event through all my punishments, injuries, and even when I wouldn’t realize it. It’s not that I didn’t know that she loved me-I just didn’t realized how much comfort her presence brought me. I needed her, otherwise I would be frantic.

It had been early morning, and the day had been completely planned. We would do our normal morning routine, eating breakfast and cleaning ourselves up. Then we would go shopping at Target, and then we would go out to eat for dinner and come home to play games as a family. My mother had decided to take all three of us-my older brother, (who at the time was about ten), Peter, my older sister, (who was seven) Katie, and little, curious, six year-old me. When we walked in, we started meandering throughout the big store. First we went to toys, like I had insisted, then we went through the countless dresses in the girl’s section for Katie and I. After that, we went and boringly scouted out various clothing items for my brother. Lastly, it was my mom’s turn. We went to her section, and my sister and I, decided that it would be good idea to help her out and look for something that would suit her-or we were so amazed by all the clothes that we just wanted to graze our little fingers over all the different types of cloth. My brother had decided to stick by my mom’s side, and to push the cart-the job he would always call when we went shopping.

Katie and I had gotten so caught up in all the different pieces of clothes, that we hadn’t noticed that our brother and our mom were no longer there. To our childlike horror, we started frantically searching in the women’s clothing section for any sign of them. Every time I would see brown hair amongst the clothing racks, my hope and assurance would rise, only to fall again when each head would turn and would show an unfamiliar face. After we completely scanned that section, we moved on to another one-and we continued to do so. As the faster we looked, the quicker the feeling of loneliness would set in. I missed my mom, her face, her voice, and her hair. My sister, being the older one (and the smarter one), came up with the idea of walking to the customer service desk and asking for help. The man was very understanding and kind-he immediately picked up the phone to contact everyone inside the store, and asked for our names. Then, over the loudspeaker, he announced our names and said that our guardian should come take us. In a very short time, I saw Peter briskly walk towards us and bring us to our mom. He scolded us the whole way there, only to find out that she and him went to the section across from women’s clothing-socks and accessories. That was about the only place we hadn’t checked. Once I saw my mom’s sweet face, I started to cry. I ran into her arms and stayed there as she consoled me, telling me she was so proud of us doing the right thing, and that she was so relieved to have us back. But she couldn’t have been as relieved as I was in that moment. I had only then realized how much I needed her-not just through the good and bad, but also in the in between. I decided that day that I surely need her and her love more than she needed mine. Even though I had done so many things wrong, she always took me back. I took all of her, not realizing how much time she wasted on me-even though she didn’t have to. In that moment, I decided that I would never leave her grasp, and was able to breath more easily as her soft fingers held me and my heart. I wanted to stay in the calmness, inside the arms of a mother who loved me and would do anything for me. She loved me, and that’s all that mattered. We walked to the cash register, her hand in mine. We went through the doors, and got to the car. I knew that i was loved