Do you need a hug/crying partner right now? I can meet you.

This was the text I received from my selfless friend, as I sat in a coffee shop, five minutes from home. I’d been silently glaring at my calendar for what felt like hours although only a few real-time minutes had passed. I felt frozen, staring at the date. What should have been a joyous day to look forward to was now one I wished I could avoid.

My friend’s offer of immediate support was her reaction to a text I’d just sent her. I’d been silently sitting inside of the pretty little coffee shop, sipping a delicious latte in a blissful hour I’d managed to claim for myself. These types of days come few and far between.

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Most of my time is dedicated to my life as a home-educating mommy. My world revolves around my position as wife, mom, and homeschooler. I love my job, but I desperately needed this glorious hour of solitude. It felt so satisfying to prop myself in that cozy little shop with my laptop and planner in front of me. My me time consisted of planning for our month ahead. The hum of folks coming and going through the shop as my preferred background noise. 

In the midst of my quiet outing, I’d suddenly felt the sting of pain. My expected due date—for our baby who recently went to Heaven too soon—landed on the day of an important commitment. My eyes welled up with tears. I wanted to cry, but the shop suddenly felt much smaller than before. I sat, vision blurred by the tears that filled my eyes.

I wished I hadn’t remembered. 

I sent my friend a text saying, I’m crying inside right now . . . 

She knew I was only a few minutes from her house enjoying my much needed quiet time. I’d previously sent her a text saying, I’m enjoying a glorious chai alone . . . Do you need anything?

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Her children had been sick, and I thought I would ask if she needed anything while I was out in all of my kidless glory. We all know a mama alone can run double the errands she could if she had her precious cargo with her. She’d thanked me, congratulated me on putting in some self-care, and said she was fine. I’m sure she wasn’t expecting my much-needed mama time to turn into a crisis at the coffee shop. I didn’t either. 

Her reply halted the tears in my eyes that felt like water pushed against a dam.

My friend is thoughtful and kind, but I hadn’t expected, nor needed, her to drop everything to come support me. I simply shared my struggle because she was a loss-mom too. She’d had two miscarriages herself. We naturally bonded over the holes that were left in our hearts. We had mutual solidarity for each other, an understanding of the great loss we both experienced. I knew she would understand what it felt like to have the air sucked out of a room because of one painful reminder. She knew this heartbreak.

I didn’t take my friend’s offer of kindness, but I will always remember it. I also want others to know this type of beautiful friendship exists. The truth is we all could use a friend like mine. Not because we need someone to come running every time life gets tough but because it is so invaluable to know someone resonates with you—so much, they want to offer comfort.

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Neither of us desired to be members of this sacred club, born out of loss. Unfortunately, we both are. To have a sisterhood like this means we have a space to vent the feelings the world might not understand. It is a place where we can voice the things that hurt, acknowledging that moving on feels impossible. 

It has been my prayer that I might become someone who will drop what I’m doing just to go and sit with a friend. The one frozen in her seat, in the corner of a coffee shop.

In 2 Corinthians 1:4, we are told that God comforts us so that we can one day comfort others. God is so merciful to give us that kindness on this side of Heaven. It is my prayer that He will equip me to be this type of loving friend. I also pray you might be encouraged to be this woman, too. Like my spirit-filled friend, you and I have the opportunity to be the hands and feet of Jesus. I pray we might answer the call to be her . . . even if the call turns out to be a coffee shop crisis.