To The Poor Mom in the Parking Lot...

To the poor mom in the parking lot of the mall restaurant, who brought me face to face with one of our "worst fears":

I believe that God left that solitary parking space just for me, so that our paths would cross. I was just on the verge of some serious irritation, nearing the end of the second seemingly endless row and wondering how far away I'd have to park. My heart then skipped a beat as I glanced and saw that gloriously empty spot!

My fellow teacher friend, "T", and I had wrapped up the first day of final exams at our high school. We'd planned this lunch in advance, and were suffering from low blood sugar after staying around way later than we had wanted to trying to scan student answer sheets. (Well, it would have been sooner if we hadn't been so eager to get ready for summer that we had accidently already packed away the scanner in a secure, taped up box.)

Again, I believe that Someone had a different timetable than us; and for a good reason.

When I parked and saw you standing in front of the car next to me, balancing a baby boy on your hip while you held a phone to your ear, I immediately felt drawn to speak to you. Perhaps it was my Momdar zoning in on a fellow mama in distress? I was incredibly awkward and didn't know what to say, but I heard your "I guess we'll just have to wait for Daddy," with a measure of exasperation in your tone. Figuring it was my "in" I said lamely "Man, I hate it when Daddy is not around" (or late, or something like that).

It was like you just needed to tell someone what was going on, and I guess I seemed safe and I was there. You quickly told me that actually your little girl was in your car, firmly buckled in her car seat, with your keys in the ignition and the doors locked! (I don't remember the logistics of how it happened - but honestly those details aren't important.) I realized that the car you were standing in front of, next to mine, wasn't even yours. (Turns out you were torn between trying to help your daughter and keeping your baby out of the sun.) Your car was a few down the row - a dark minivan.

The car was on, and the air conditioner was running.

The sole fact that the car would remain nice and cool for the duration of this ordeal had kept you from calling 911. I don't know how long it had been since you had the shocking realization of what had happened, but I daresay that no matter how panicked and stressed you felt you handled yourself with more grace than I probably would have.

As I stood by your van, every fiber of my being wanted to be your hero.

I could see your little girl,crying in her sweet ballet outfit, (which you informed me was where you were currently supposed to be), and all I wanted in the world was to get the doors opened. If the car had been off, and heat was a danger, I would have grabbed the misplaced Corolla rim from the trunk of my car and used it as leverage to force open that darn back window that was "safely" propped a couple inches wide. Or, I would have held your baby for you as you used your sheer superhuman mom power to do it yourself. (Lord knows we'd move heaven and earth if our kid was in danger!)

You should know that my defense mechanism is humor - which is why I tried to help you laugh. I promised you that some day this was going to be an awesome story at your daughter's wedding or high school graduation. T walked up and we started talking to you about all the stupid stuff our kids have survived... The kinds of things you are horrified about; like driving to the grocery store and realizing as you go to lift the infant car seat out that you never buckled the straps. (The things that we breathe a prayer of gratefulness for living through, and learn valuable lessons in return.)

Isn't it ironic that you were stuck because of trying to keep your children safe?

I tried to talk your daughter through unbuckling her seat - but her two little thumbs were to weak to push the red button.
   "Well, there's a reason why we DON'T teach our kids how to get out of there carseats!", I admitted knowingly to you.
(Any mom who has glanced in the rear view mirror in time to see there child's butt disappearing over or under the seat is nodding. Yep.)

I asked if she could reach the door, where the lock was, but her arms were appropriately too short.
   "That's why we put her in the middle seat - it's safer," you stated with a shake of your head.

You. Are. A. Good. Mom.

I hope that's what I said to you, because it's what I wanted to convey. This situation could happen to any of us - and to many of us it has. T even told how she just encountered the SAME situation in a grocery store parking lot over the weekend. It probably didn't make you feel better right then, but we wanted you to not beat yourself up.

As awful as the situation seemed, and it was, your daughter was upset but she was SAFE. And your baby boy, who you were grateful wasn't trapped in there as well, was happy and smiling at us. And if they hadn't been safe - none of us would have been standing around helplessly, wracking our brains for a solution. All three of us would be attacking that minivan mercilessly. (As solid as those things are, I can promise that they are no match for a group of mamas banded together for the sole purpose of rescuing a child.)

I hope that your husband didn't give you too much grief. I saw the relief flood over your face when he called you back, and had been able to leave work and bring his keys. It was only when you said that he was just a few minutes away and insisted, more than once, that we go on and enjoy our lunch that I reluctantly walked away from you.

I really wished that I could have done more. I wish that I had stayed with you even for the sole purpose that you wouldn't have to stand there alone for any amount of time. (However I do acknowledge that perhaps us not being there would help it not seem like such a spectacle when your hubby did arrive for the rescue. And I am sure that your family bonded in the moment of your daughter's freedom.)

You know, we women can't always fix each others' problems and griefs. But what an encouragement it is to know that we can help bear each other's burdens and walk alongside each other in this crazy thing called life! I truly hope that you will remember that someone cared when you faced this "worst fear" - - - T and that mama with the purple hair.

I have a fun image in my head of me, and you, and T, and the stressed-to-the-max woman seated a few tables over from us during lunch.  (She was desperately trying everything she could to quiet down a ticked-off baby who wanted nothing to do with a pacifier and didn't comprehend the concept of "the bottle is on it's way.) I think we'd have a jolly time sitting in a Cheesecake Factory booth ordering every dessert on the menu, and jokingly commiserating over our mommyhood stories. (And of course there'd be endless babysitting so that we could eat a whole piece of cheesecake without being interrupted because a little someone "needed to poop".)

We really are all in this together. <3


PS -  I am really annoyed about "open letters". Apparently I have now penned one.
     .... consider me humbled.