I walked back in to the kitchen at Luci’s on Sunday after spending the entire morning with my Mom, looking at baby photos and listening to meanings about how love and motherhood have been the greatest gifts of her life, to see my favorite chef Ernesto. No matter the day, Ernesto always greets me with a broad smile and a “Good day Miss Alison!” and last Sunday, Mother’s Day, was no exception. I asked him how his Mother’s Day was, not knowing him long enough to know if he has children, has a mother still living, or was just solo Ernesto, happy by himself in his own rights, as he seems whenever I see him at work. Considering asking “So…do you have a Mother?” is a fairly awkward question, so I stuck with asking how his day was, but unfortunately that did not spare me feeling awkward, or a pit augmenting in my stomach. “Well, I’ve been working since five-thirty, so it hasn’t been the most enjoyable,” Ernesto said. Not that that let alone wouldn’t cause emotions to emulate the feelings of a pit let in my stomach, but as I always say, Ernesto’s four-forty five alarm clock awakening was not all that was on his mind although it was present. I told him to he needed to go home and rest, gave him a pat on the back, smiled and grabbed two more forks and walked out the door. I came back a couple minutes later, throwing coffee cups in trash, and Ernesto asked me if I spent my Mother’s Day with my Mom, and I said “Yes, nothing special but just perfect.” He smiled, “Your Mother is very lucky.” I laughed, “I’m very lucky” I said. Ernesto looked at me and said, “Anyone to have a child has the greatest gift of all.” I smiled again. I walked out front to a quiet Luci’s Sunday afternoon after the Mother’s Day rush I got to skip to spend the morning with my own Mother, and to chat with my new friend Emily. “Ernesto is so sweet” I said to her. She looked at me with gentle eyes, and said “I know, today must be hard for him. He lost his only son last week.” It’s moments like those that make you feel ridiculous for complaining about sore feet from work days or that your Mother used to make you come home at eleven o’clock when you were a Junior in high school. It’s those moments that are honestly my favorite, those moments that make my heart drop, water well in my brown eyes, and that suddenly make me thankful for everything in my life, everything that some people view as ordinary, and that I need to remember to view as extraordinary, such as my own Mother.