LOST

The white-haired woman meandered through the concourse, clutching her oversized purse to her body. Her woolen coat had seen too many Christmas shopping seasons. She paused in front of a group of carolers; her face a mask of perplexity. Another woman touched her arm and asked if she needed help. She bolted away.

I followed.

She continued past the food court and stood in front of a children's clothing store, staring at a little red plaid dress paired with black patent leather shoes and frilly white socks. Her hand shook as it hovered over the window, and her face creased into a smile.

I waited.

She stood for several minutes before turning away from the display; the smile replaced by a bewildered expression as her journey continued. She stopped sensing something in the air and followed her nose to a gingerbread kiosk. She picked up a decorated cookie and put it in her purse, snapping it shut as though someone might take it from her. The shopkeeper frowned, his mouth poised to address her.

I stepped up and paid.

She wandered on avoiding other shoppers, as though guided by some internal radar, not speaking to anyone, not interested in the displays, not aware of her circumstances. She found a bench and sat, tears rolling down her face.

I sat next to her.

The anxious look disappeared, and a moment of clarity registered in her eyes. Her hand reached up and touched my cheek before she slipped back into the void.

"I love you, Mom."