I held my mother’s hand tightly, and she grasped mine with all the strength of her 88-year-old muscles. We stood on the sidewalk right outside the hairdressing studio. We had been standing there for a while. 

Her grip conveyed her fear: it was the step she needed to make from the sidewalk, over the curb down to the parking lot. My car was parked two feet away, running, the passenger door open for her. 

I told my partially deaf, partially blind old mother that she’d “Done this a million times before.”  

“I know. But I’m scared this time.” 

My grip was to reassure her, somehow convey to her that she did have the strength, and with my help, the balance, to take this step. 

Still we stood. I was quiet, there for her, as strong as I could be. 

Mom sighed. She said, “Well, I guess sometimes you have to be brave.” 

She reached out her right foot. I felt her weight shift as she clutched me even tighter. I eased her arm forward, and her body followed until the toe of her shoe pressed into the asphalt. She sighed, said “There”, and stepped to the car.

I’ll always remember this lesson in bravery.