I feel comfortable around her, because she knows.
She knows the pain. The anguish. The hurt.
She uncovers the secret I hold as there is no hiding it from her. She can read through the words of false delight that cover up my pain deep within.
For she is not a surface level friend.
She is a sister at the deepest level of what that bond means.
She can tell your true thoughts because she has them too and without words she can see the hidden sorrow written all over your face and I find comfort in that.
My fears she has lived.
My truth she speaks even though we have never met.
My emotions she knows as she has also ridden this wild ride of love and loss.
Her strength she shares and it carries me across the seas of sorrow even when the waves get rough.
My pain is real. The greatest pain a woman can ever feel. Ever know.
At times I fear no one will understand, but then there she is. She comprehends when no one else can.
She meets my pain through hers with love and provides me with hope to live my life despite it, as she does.
I want healing to happen.
So does she.
But unlike others, she knows that when the rainbow of hope emerges from this desolate place of grief, it will look different, not better or worse, but different.
Because even our brightest hopes are now tinted by our greatest sorrow. And this she knows.
This she accepts me for and welcomes me into the sisterhood of solace for the wounded.
She welcomes me as others do not, with kind, understanding and unfortunately, knowing eyes.
For our hearts share the same pain, the same suffering and only she can see how I would not survive without this sisterhood she lovingly wraps me in with her warm and tender arms as she lets me weep on her shoulder.
Because she too, is the bereaved mother.