It has been a little over a month since you met and said goodbye to your precious baby boy. I haven’t seen you since before your world came crashing down because giving you your space seems to be the only thing I can possibly do to help ease the pain, even just a little.

You have always been such a strong force to be reckoned with. You are one of the most intelligent people I have ever met and your heart is bigger than I think you give yourself credit for. I have had the privilege of being your friend since we were children.

You have known your path in life since before we even met. It was a trait I have always admired and secretly envied. I still have no clue where I am headed, but you have known for over twenty years.

I have watched you conquer trial after trial to achieve each and every one of your goals and you have succeeded every time. How have you always been so amazing?

You know my life history from the day we met 17 years ago to now. You know how much I relied on your friendship during those awkward teenage years and early college. And you certainly know that despite how little we sometimes speak, the miles between us, or the craziness of our daily lives, we will always have a friendship rooted in deep history and care.

But there are a few things you don’t know.

You don’t know just how badly I want to comfort you and how much I have thought about and prayed for you each and every day since it happened.

I never told you that when you first told me the news I cried all morning under my bedsheets while my mother took care of my own son for me. My empathetic heart completely broke for you as I tried–and failed–to comprehend the enormity of what you were going through at that moment.

I never told you that if you had only asked that morning, I would have immediately jumped into my car and driven the two and a half hours just to give you a hug and bring you a cup of coffee.

I never told you that I spent that first week crying myself to sleep. My tears cried over your situation eventually evolved into tears of frustration and shame on my own account because I had still done nothing for you.

And last year when you lost your first son during your second trimester, I never told you that my heart broke for you then, too.

Both times all I did was send a text that said, “I’m here if you need me.” I made you food and I gave you your space.

Though I know I don’t truly understand, and I certainly hope I never will, the gravity of watching your friend lose her children is more than I ever would have imagined. Now, I look at my own son and think of you.

You have lived my worst nightmare…twice.

I am so sorry. I am sorry that in the midst of this valley in your life I have come up empty. There are thousands of words I want to share with you, but each time I pick up the phone to call I lose my nerve.

I worry that even the mention of their names will hurt you. I worry that you seeing my son will cause great sorrow. But mostly, I worry because each thing I say could be misconstrued. The last thing I would ever want would be to cause you more pain.

What I can say is this: I believe with my whole heart and soul that your story will have a happy ending and someday you will hold your babies in your arms once again. Though I know you struggle with finding the faith to move on, I sincerely hope you know how much I believe in you.

You are stronger on your weakest days than I am on my sturdiest.

For now, I hope you find peace in my silence. And when you are ready to see me again, I hope you find strength in my presence.

From one mama to another…you’ve got this and I’ve always got you.

I love you.