She looked for me.

She’s been gunning for the school record all season. 

We recently discovered that their Salone blood has some serious power and speed in it and track has quickly become a new passion. So at the end of her district race, her team gathered around the clock waiting for the 100 Meter times to post. As soon as the "Kora Landers: 12.3" posted, she jumped up into her brother’s arms. Her teammates and coaches rushed to congratulate her as she smashed the 29-year-old school record.

I was so enjoying watching her celebrate. She then pulled away from the group and started running down the track sideline. Her gaze was scanning the bleachers. “What is she doing?” I thought.

And then I realized. She’s looking for me.

She caught my gaze, gave me a thumbs up and giant smile, and then ran off with her still congratulatory teammates.  

And I wept.  

I perhaps appeared like a track parent who is all together too invested in breaking records. But what they didn’t know was that I’ve been gunning for her heart for 15 years. 

Fighting for her to look for me. 

Look for me in your pain. Look for me in your joy. 

She was the tiny, 2.5 year old toddler who stood at the hotel room doorway on our first night together. Her shoes on, her backpack firmly on her back. Had she been tall enough to reach the door handle, she no doubt would have opened it and dragged Zeke with her to attempt to find their own way on the midnight Freetown streets. She stood there until her little legs collapsed in exhaustion. First battle: Trust me enough to sleep.

For weeks after arriving home with us, she would scrub her twin brother’s back in the bath and spoon-feed him his dinner. She would take two snacks every time I handed them out so that she could ensure that one got to him. Next battle: Trust me to take care of your brother. I will feed him. I am his Mom now. You can relax.

And for the next 15 years, I battled for her heart. Let me love you. Let me help you. Look for me. In your pain and in your victory. Let me carry it. Let me share in it. I watched her fight it. I could not blame her. Because she knew…mothers DO die after all. And the only true safety was if she did it all herself.

And so when I say, she looked for me…in the significant moment…when her defenses were down…she looked for me.

It was a whole thing that made a school record pale.

What a gift. 

 What a girl.