I always order her the same thing every time:

Cheeseburger, fries and a medium chocolate milkshake.

We are at McDonald’s for lunch, my moms favorite.

When we woke up at my mom’s house four years ago to find that my step father had died in the night, I asked my mom what I could do for her.

“Get me a chocolate milkshake from McDonald’s,” was her answer.

I got her the largest one they had and watched her nurse it all morning long as she sat with the shock of having lost her second husband.

She absolutely loves those chocolate milkshakes. She needs her chocolate milkshakes.

Or so I thought!

When the girl from behind the counter brought our tray to the table, I stared at the milkshake.

There was nothing chocolate about it, it was totally white.

I picked it up and asked the girl why it wasn’t brown.

She told me that they ran out of the chocolate syrup and the machine was down. She promised to bring my mother another one when they fixed it.

My mom likes everything to be as she expects it to be.

What I came to find out is; SO…DO…I.

I was worried that she would freak out.

I decided not to tell her about what was going on, I put the straw in and sent the drink over to her side of the table.

She took a sip and then another.

I asked her if she was enjoying her milkshake and she nodded yes.

Meanwhile, I wasn’t enjoying any of it.

I was fuming that the girl, after 10 minutes or so, had not brought over another milkshake for my mom, the one she WANTED, the chocolate one.

I could see that the machine had been fixed as people were ordering and drinking their chocolate milkshakes all over the place.

Happy people with their happy chocolate milkshakes.

I wanted to get her badge number and report her to the McDonald’s police. I wanted to jump over the counter and make the shake myself.

I did see that she was busy with a long line of customers…but..so what…I wanted what I wanted.

I was making myself miserable, wanting things to be different than they were.

Then I looked over at my mom again. She had been busily eating her food and drinking her shake.

In fact, the shake was almost all gone.

She actually smiled and said, “Good!”

All along, she had been one of those happy people drinking their happy shake! No matter that it was vanilla!

My mind had been going at 220 miles per hour on a track of dissatisfaction.

I almost missed what was right in front of me because I was so consumed with the conversation in my head.

There was my mom, sitting across from me, smiling.

Chocolate, vanilla, she didn’t care. Why was I holding on so tight?

I let it go.

As we got up to leave I walked over to the girl behind the cash register and said “thank you.”

It felt so much better than the alternative,

which was to convince the McDonalds police to put her in jail.

I love when life gives you exactly what you need,

and your best lessons can come from a milkshake.