The Gift of the Lavender Trash Can

I'm a worrier.  I've always been a worrier.  I was the five year old, sobbing uncontrollably, as she stood outside with classmates during that first fire drill. Not concerned about her school, her teachers, or her classmates...those tears were for the classroom bird... left inside the building...doomed  to perish alone in the flames. Luckily, I had a compassionate teacher who whispered in my ear that there really was no fire and later shared this story with my mother. Recognizing early that I was a sensitive kid who over-thought just about everything, my parents eased my worries when they could, and gave me tools to manage my more serious apprehensions, as I aged. The gift of the lavender trash can was a little bit of both.

my mom and me (age 6)

"Can't sleep?", my mother asked as she walked past my bedroom. I shook my head. "I'll be right back," she said. It was early November and we had recently moved from a small suburb on the East Coast to Southern California. My dad had landed a great job in sunny California after retiring from the military and life was good. Their happiness made our home an easy refuge but it couldn't totally erase the anxiety of a thirteen old girl coping with a new school, new friends, and a totally new way of life. I don't remember the specifics of my restlessness, that night, but the image of my mom returning to my room carrying the small lavender trash can and the events that followed are etched forever in my memory.

me - new kid in school  

"We can talk about the things that are worrying you, tomorrow, but tonight you need your sleep," she said as she sat on the edge of my bed, placing the lavender trash can on the floor beside her feet,  "I want you to put all of those worries... out of your head... and into this trash can." I giggled  for the idea seemed absurd but she remained serious. Then one by one, she had me mime the motion of tossing away each care. Silly as it seemed it was quite freeing. She didn't trivialize my young concerns by taking the worry-filled trash can out of my room to dump it. Instead, she reassured me that my worries would be waiting for me in the morning, when I could make a decision about reclaiming them. She gave me a big hug and a kiss and asked if I felt a little better, as she left my room.

I reflect on this story often...and always on Mother's Day. The gift of the lavender trash can wasn't that it allowed me to finally fall asleep that night (which it did) or the fact that it opened my eyes to the possibly that I could have control over my worries (yeah- I'm still working on that). The real gift was the reminder that I wasn't facing my world and all of the scary things in it... alone. My mother was there for me. She had always been there for me. And while she might not be able to eliminate my problems, she'd be there to listen and help me find a way to cope that just might include a touch of her loving wizardry. I knew it then and I believe it still..the power of a mother's love is one of the most magical things of this world.