The Miraculously Unlikely Reunion of Strangers

“I was there the night your son died.” This stranger, whom I had just met uttered these words that bonded us forever. Tears filled both of our eyes as we silently embraced this miraculous reunion.

It was a busy June day. All my days are busy. I am a single mama with 5 energetic children. “Seven,” my daughter always corrects me. “You have seven kids.” She is not wrong. I do have seven, but for the sake of not going into the explanation with every new person who politely inquires, I usually just say, “five.” Now that Abigail has opened “that can of worms,” I feel obligated to at least mention that I do in fact have two children who have preceded the rest of us to heaven. The second was an early miscarriage and the same daughter who doesn’t let me leave these two siblings of hers out of my tally, named this baby “Elizabeth.” She was 4 at the time and claimed that God told her the baby was Elizabeth. So we allowed her to bestow this name and I have joked ever since that if my kids get to heaven one day and discover they have a brother named Elizabeth: well, don’t blame me. The other loss took place a year before Abigail was born, exactly a year. But I’m not at that part of my story yet.

* * * * *

“Hey mom,” called my oldest son, as he rushed out the door headed to a class. “Some friends of mine from Pennsylvania, might stop by later today.”

“Ohhh?”

“It’s a friend from my group chat. She and her mom are taking a trip across the country for her graduation and apparently we are on their route. I told them they could have dinner with us…..”

“Of course. I’d love to meet them. They can also stay here if they want.”

“I knew you’d be cool with it.”

“Always, though a bit more notice might have been nice.” He grinned and I gave him the “mom look.” As the door banged shut and I heard the Subaru engine accelerate rapidly out of the driveway, I felt anticipation. My heart strings always tugged at the mention of my favorite state and I loved meeting new people.

The bustle of the day overtook me, as is the case with most of my days. Drive someone somewhere. Clean. Make another meal. Clean. Do math with a struggling student. Change a diaper. Pick someone up from somewhere. Help with a writing project. Get the toddler down for a nap. Empty the dishwasher. Read with the kids. All. The. Things.

“Everyone in the car.” I called, grimacing at the clock. It rarely shows me the time I want it to. It seems to always move faster than I anticipate leaving me rushing to the next thing out of breath and a few steps behind. Hefting the two year old into her car seat, I checked to make sure all were buckled. “We are late to get Hannah,” sigh. Too bad she couldn’t have ridden home with her brother today, but he had a volunteer opportunity after his classes. Lost in my own thoughts, mostly of what on earth I was going to make for dinner tonight, I had entirely forgotten the possibility of guests.

"That’s odd. Why is there a car in our driveway?” I spotted the license plate on the red SUV and remembered! “Ben’s friends!”

Offering a quick explanation to the kids, I hopped out. Smiling awkwardly at the passenger window, I waved. Katelyn opened her door, “Are you Ben’s mom?” "Ben’s mom" is one of my many names, and so I responded in the affirmative. “Welcome. Come on in. Ben will be back soon. I’m Catherine.”

“Missy. Katelyn’s mom.” She leaned toward me from the driver’s seat.

“We are so pleased to have you visit. We don’t get company all the way from Pennsylvania every day. “

“We can wait outside for Ben.” Missy seemed a bit hesitant, not wanting to impose.

“No. No. Please come in. We are very excited to have you.”

I urged them inside, kicking toys and shoes out of the way as discreetly as I could and ushering them to the sofa, only partly covered in half folded laundry. Moving the clothes back to the laundry basket, I sat next to Missy on the couch, and absently reached to pull the toddler onto my lap. Katelyn sat on the floor and my girls offered everyone lemonade.

We enjoyed learning to know Katelyn and her mom. When Missy had moved from Pennsylvania to Missouri, Katelyn had stayed to finish high school. They were now celebrating this accomplishment with a mother daughter adventure. “I love that you just took off only the two of you to travel across the whole country together. You are so adventurous.” I love to travel and so this sounded like a dream to me.

“Well, I’m a truck driver now,” Missy smiled, with a slight emphasis on the word, ‘now.’ “So travel is kind of my thing,”

“What a great way to spend time together… And I love that you are finding people along the way to visit. It is really great to have you.”

“You said you’re a truck driver, ‘now,’ did you do something different before?”

“Yes, I used to run an ambulance, when I lived in Pennsylvania. I was an EMT.”

“Oh that would be an intense job.”

“Yeah, it got to be too much after a while, that’s why I decided to become a truck driver.”

“Where were you in Pennsylvania?”

“I worked in Dillsburg.”

My heart rate increased slightly, “We called an ambulance in Dillsburg once.” I paused, feeling like I had said more than I wanted to already, but knowing I couldn’t really leave that hanging, I continued softly, “Our son couldn’t breathe after he was born…..” As the silence hung over the room, I knew I had confided too much in a brand new friendship. Yet, I felt something I couldn’t put my finger on, an illusive connection….. The silence felt long as I saw Missy’s face register, surprise, compassion, knowing, followed by tears. With a sharp intake of breath she stared at my face, “I was there that night. You lived on Twin Hills didn’t you?” Shocked, I nodded.

It was as if time and space stood still. We were two women, mothers, strangers, instantly united and bonded forever, transported back to that devastating night 12 years and two months prior to this impossible reunion. The kids all melted away to the kitchen and Missy and I shed tears and found healing together in remembering.

“I drove past your house so many times, wanting desperately to stop and see if you were ok. I just couldn’t get up the nerve to come in.”

“Oh, I wish you had.” I reached out my hand to her, now it was me offering comfort.

“That was one of the hardest calls I ever went on. In fact, the loss of your son, and seeing your husband’s devastated face that night, was one of the biggest reasons I decided to find a new career. I just couldn’t find closure.”

Reaching out, I hugged her. “And here it is. This is a miracle. I can’t even believe that we found each other after all these years... I mean we didn’t. But…” I shivered with the realization.

“Caught up in their own tragedy, people don’t realize what a toll it takes on the first responders. And,” She held up her hand, “I wouldn’t expect them to, of course. But we feel the losses too. We feel the guilt and sadness at our inability to save them all. Your son, Ethan, was devastating for me. I lost a piece of myself that night too. I’m so sorry, we couldn’t save him.” Exhaling deeply, she continued, “I have wanted to tell you that for so many years.”

(I can’t even write this true story without tears.)

We were silent together. I struggle to describe exactly what it felt like. It was as if there were empty places of hurt within each of our souls, being softly filled-in as a result of this unexpected connection.

“I know.” I murmured softly, “I know you did everything. There was something wrong with him and we never did find out why. We may never know. But I know you tried your best.” I exhaled slowly, “I’m ok now. I miss him every single day, but I am at peace.” I looked into Missy’s eyes and saw relief, like an actual physical weight had been lifted off of her. Shaking my head again, “I can’t believe this. I just can’t believe that you’re really sitting here in my living room 3000 miles away from where it all happened!”

It was 8 years ago that I met Missy. She holds one of the most tender places in my heart and every year on the anniversary of Ethan’s birth and death, she is one of the first to reach out and remember.

This year my phone went "Ding..." a few hours before midnight.

“It’s past midnight for me, so it’s the 23rd but not for you yet, I just wanted you to know that I am thinking of you today. Hugs and love my dear friend. ”

This week, Ethan would have been 20.

* * * * *

Now when I say, “Thank you for your service,” I always pause and think of Missy and remember the tremendous personal sacrifice our first responders make not just of their time and effort but of their very hearts and souls each and every day they put themselves on the line for others.

I love you Missy. Thank you for your service. And more importantly, Thank you for your friendship.