Dear Mom at Aldi ...

Dear Mom at Aldi,

I ran into you this afternoon. Actually, it's more like I purposely was put in your path and you in mine. I watched you with your little boy as he struggled to get out of the cart as you and your husband looked at the prunes and other baking supplies. I didn't pay much attention at the time, but recognized the struggle - a defiant "I want don't want to sit down" toddler-in-training desperately seeking freedom from that shopping cart while you, also desperately, tried to hold a conversation and reign him in.

I didn't pay much attention until I was standing in the same aisle glancing at the spices and saw you and your children, sans husband, at the other end of the row. I didn't pay attention until I saw that defiant little boy with the fearlessness of an independent child topple from the cart. You'll never know the panic that hit my chest or how I had to mentally grab hold of myself so I didn't rush down the aisle to help you. You won't know, because I didn't tell you and you will likely never read this. Instead, I meandered. Instead of rushing to aid another mom, I watched from the corner of my eye as you gathered your son in your arms, pulled your daughter close to you, and you sat on the floor of Aldi beside a stack of sports drinks and other beverages.

I know I didn't shock you when I asked quietly, "Is he OK?" Because that's what at least a small population of people would do when they see a small child crying inconsolably in their mother's arms. A larger population would have given you a sad smile and thought something like, "Oh that poor woman."

And then there's me.

"Are you OK?"

It's such a simple question, but in the moment it seemed like the hardest question for me as a mother to ask another mother because how do you answer that question after your child just fell out of your shopping cart? You only turned your back for a second to grab something. Your eyes hardly left him. It happened on your watch.

It's as difficult a questions to ask as it is to answer.

"... so lucky he didn't land on his head," you responded, your eyes filled with something akin to fear - fear that it doesn't matter if it was his head or not because it still happened and fear that it happened in public and fear that someone saw it happen and the biggest fear of all ... the unmistakable fear that a stranger - me - was going to give you an earful about cart safety and that he should have been properly strapped in.

Instead, I touched his raven curls and pulled you both into a strong hug. A hug every mother needs in that moment because you were shaking like holding it together in that moment was the only thing you could focus on ... So I hugged you and silently took inventory of any bumps and bruises he might have gotten, the biggest probably to his toddler-sized ego. You took a deep breath and I apologize, because I totally didn't shower this morning after taking one late last night. I hope I didn't smell too horrible after being stuck between my own two children for half the night.

Your little girl, so scared for her baby brother, stood there and looked at me with those big eyes and said, "He fell down." I nodded and responded, "Yeah, he did, but I think he's going to be OK." Then turning to you as you stood up, I gave your little man one more big smile and told him to go get some mama snuggles. Not because he needed them, though. Because you needed them. You needed in that moment for your children to know shit happens and you're going to sometimes sit on the floor at Aldi on a Sunday afternoon nearly in tears. Shit happens and kids fall down and even when you're trying to hold it together, you're still their No. 1 and they can count on you to pick them up and hold onto them while they cry.

And then I walked away to continue my shopping. Our two-minute encounter was on my mind as I heard you the next aisle over telling your husband your son fell out of the cart, his asking how and your response of "I don't know." I could hear the fear and defeat in your voice, but behind it was the "I'm a mom and I can handle this" tone that automatically comes when we as parents face something like this, as tragically non-tragic as this is.

I passed you as I was leaving the store after packing my grocery bags and again as I returned my cart. You gave me the silent thank you, a brief nod of your head, the acknowledgement that there was a moment you were in need and someone was there to help. That thank you wasn't necessary because you'd already said it with your actions.

It happened without you knowing - it was the moment you wrapped your arm around me and welcomed someone's help.

It could have just as easily been me sitting on that floor. It could have been my husband. It could have been my sister or mother or best friend. And you could have just as easily pushed me away, because I did break boundaries and I did step outside of the social norm and to a lot of people that's just scary, but you didn't.

I hope out of this experience you've been reminded there are good people out there. Thank you for letting me help you, and in the process you've reminded me that I am a good person.