A Shared Moment
Yesterday I pulled up to a stoplight and looked over in the car on my left. I do this a lot, mostly because I am naturally quite nosy. I was right next to the rear of the car, so I could see the baby in the baby seat quite clearly. She was behind the driver’s seat, and she was intently looking at her mother in the front passenger seat. Her father was driving, and her parents were quite involved in whatever they were discussing.
The look she had on her face was a little heartbreaking – if she were an adult, I would have classified it as a “Why is no one noticing me?” look. I’m about 95% certain that she had Down’s Syndrome, so my heart just melted to see this look on her face.
After a little bit, she happened to look my way. I smiled at her (one of my really big smiles), and she kept looking at me. Soon, she started smiling back – first a little one, but then bigger and bigger as the seconds ticked by. I kept smiling to her and even waved a little at her. Oh, man, did she get happy.
Meanwhile, her parents were still talking in the front.
Sooner than I was ready for, they got a green arrow to turn, and I barely had time to wave to her once more before she was gone. From the moment I caught her eye until the moment I couldn’t see her anymore, she never looked away. I’m convinced if we would have had 30 seconds longer, she would have been laughing.
I was sad to see her go, and I’m not really sure why. She couldn’t have been any older than a year, and my guess is a little younger. As I wiped away a tear, I prayed a silent prayer that she would have a good life.
Goodbye, little girl. Thanks for bringing a smile to my face.