And, without even knowing it, we started holding each other up
A few days had passed since the separation. And I kept running into the mothers of children who had been in my oldest son’s nursery class. We have a WhatsApp group where we talk and arrange things. Mostly everything revolves around the kids.
I used to always stop when I saw them. We’d chat for a bit. But during those days, I couldn’t. I avoided it.
Sometimes I pretended I was on the phone. Other times I said I was in a rush.
I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to pretend everything was fine. I didn’t want to say out loud what I myself could barely accept yet.
One of them had just got married. Another was pregnant with her third child. Another was talking about arranging playdates for the kids. In one way or another, they all reminded me of what I had just lost.
So I kept my distance. I walked faster. Said a quick “hi” and disappeared.
Until one night, I found the courage. I picked up my phone and wrote in the group. I told them about the separation. I explained my silence. I asked, without really asking, for understanding.
The replies came almost immediately. Warmth. Availability. Support. I got emotional. I realised I was going to need them more than I ever thought.
But in the middle of all that… there was a different message.
It came privately. And it surprised me. Because it wasn’t just me. There was another mother going through the same thing. Different separations. Different stories. But the same feelings. The same fears. The same sadness. The same uncertainty. The same pain.
It didn’t take long before we met.
When we saw each other, we hugged. A long hug. Heavy. The kind that says more than words ever could. And it did say a lot. Because it wasn’t just someone trying to support me. It was someone who understood. Who recognised it. Who felt it. And who, like me, was also trying to figure out how you survive this.
Since then, we’ve talked a lot.
I didn’t want her to be going through this. Nobody should.
But the truth is that, in the middle of all this chaos, we found each other. And without really noticing, we started doing this together. Holding each other when the other one falls. Listening when no one else quite understands. Saying “I know”… and actually meaning it.
And there’s something deeply rare in that. Because not everyone stays. But some people arrive exactly when they’re needed. And they do stay. And I know I want to take care of this bond. Because some encounters aren’t coincidence. They are life quietly saying: “you are not alone… even now.”
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