As a nanny, I am surrounded in the world of mothers. Most of us are the same age, I know what they drive, whose kids belong to who, what their husbands do for a living, what kind of workout clothes they prefer, the list goes on.
I have more "moms" numbers in my phones current texts on any given day than I do friends.
I know much about their lives. I am as close to a family member without being a family member.
When something good happens I know, when something tragic happens, I know. I'm that invisible person that smooths things out and helps make days easier.
A few weeks ago, one of those moms was hit with the tragedy of a lifetime when her 13 year old son died a sudden accidental death. Shockwaves were felt around the small community where I find myself a nanny.
Today, I saw her. The face of sadness.
I was just going about my day.
Wishing the football game that I had my little charge at would end because it was H O T.
Thinking about meeting Brad later for lunch, preoccupied with me.
Then she walked in. The parents were all chatting amongst themselves, and in walked in sadness.
Two weeks previous her son had died. For two weeks she has mourned the thirteen year old that will never go to high school, get in a little trouble, make good decisions, date, marry.
I hadn't seen her since he had passed away. And when she walked in she was weak and frail and sad. When you think of sadness, she wore that face.
Sometimes "hey how are you" isn't enough. It's not a polite thing to say. It's not the right thing to say.
A pat on the back and a nod maybe. Just I see you. You are not invisible to me. I can not imagine what you are going through but I know you are in the depths of it. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. Sometimes you can say all that with your eyes. Today I tried to do that.
Soon, after watching her other son play football, she had to go and be in the shade. It was an abnormally hot day.
She got up, her husband had his arm tightly on her arm. And her mom flanked her other side. It was like they were her body guards protecting and shielding her from life, wind, everything.
But as they walked away to find that shade I thought "they're going to be okay..."
She's going to be okay. I can't imagine what it feels like to lose a child. A child you carried in your body. A child you had hope for the future to see grow up and old.
She came to a football game today in 90 degree weather because her 11 year old son who now won't have a living brother to love needed her living life there to watch him succeed.
And it was a Saturday morning. It was early. Every reason for her to stay in bed.
But she got up. She arose. She did it.
That's the face of bravery.
That's a mother.
That's the face of love.
Sent from my iPhone