The Day Starbucks Changed My Life

Sometimes being a parent of a toddler is exhausting. And by sometimes, I mean every waking minute. Last week, after one particularly trying morning, I found myself dreaming about the days when he will be able to clean up after himself, when he won't try to climb the furniture or touch things he isn't supposed to. I wistfully imagined the days when he'll go to school and I'll have an entire day to do something besides chase after him and make sure he isn't about to jump head-first off of the dining room table. (It almost happened once. True story).

My father-in-law came over that afternoon to give me a few hours reprieve. (God bless grandparents). I ran several errands, and then went to Starbucks to try and get some work stuff done without trying to keep sticky 18-month-old fingers off of my computer.

As I was sitting there, typing away, a well-dressed, attractive woman, probably mid-30s, came in, talking on her phone. She needed to plug her computer in, which is why she didn't continue her conversation outside. Most everyone around her had earbuds in, so no one was really paying attention to her conversation.

Except me. I was sitting right beside her. I was privy to her conversation whether I wanted to be or not.

She was talking about her 18-month old son -- same age as mine, I thought -- who had a rare heart condition. I assumed she was talking to his doctor, because she kept throwing out big medical terms that I had no idea what they meant. She was very kind, and very patient, but repeatedly, in a very calm manner, she kept saying, "You're not listening to me. I think we need to ...," before launching into what she perceived, after doing extensive research, was their best course of treatment for her little boy.

Here's what I learned in the approximately 20-minute conversation:

1. She had gone to Starbucks to sort through insurance issues and medical bills and pay what she could.

2. Her son was dying.

3. Children with his condition didn't live past 24 months.

4. Doctors wanted to put him on a feeding tube, but that was a last-care attempt -- accepting that he was ready to die.

5. She was a fierce Mama Bear who was not going to give up fighting for her little boy yet. She had discovered a new treatment that involved a highly-caloric diet that might save his life or buy them some time.

6. Her precious baby was already showing signs of declining.

7. She had two other children at home, needing their Mommy.

8. There was not much, if any, hope for her little boy to live. She was grasping at straws, determined that if she grabbed the right one, it would be life-saving.

 I was amazed as I listened to her discuss all this, with both such intense passion and emotional coolness, all at the same time. She had a job, and she was determined to do it.

After about 20 minutes of talking back and forth, she said, "Ok, you know what? We're not going to figure all of this out right now, so let's just stop talking about it and try and enjoy our date night tonight."

She was talking to her husband. About their little boy. Who was dying.

Wow.

I talk to my husband (way too much) about all of my 18-month-old's toys that seem to fill every inch of our small house, and she is talking to her husband about their 18-month-old son who is dying.

I had to leave just as she was wrapping up her conversation. Most of what I went to Starbucks to accomplish didn't get finished, or even started, for that matter. I put my computer away, threw away my coffee cup, and then approached her. I told her I couldn't help but overhear, and I was so very sorry for what she was going through.

"Thank you," she said, smiling. "But we're ok. We're really ok."

I wish she knew how much she changed me. And I wish I knew how to say, "I'm sorry that my biggest problem is my child has too many toys and I hate clutter, while your son is dying and there isn't a cure, and I'm sorry that I can be selfish and I hope you know that getting to overhear your conversation with your husband has changed the rest of my life, and I'll pray that your son gets a miracle, because after 20 minutes, I'm already convinced your family deserves it, and I hope you and your husband have a lifetime of great date nights."

I called my husband from the parking lot, and then I just sat there for a minute, absorbing what just happened. That night, we prayed for her family, and for her little boy who doesn't have the same hope for a future as our son does.

I care less about Reagan's toys strewn everywhere now. I try to have more patience when he reaches for my computer again. I try not to scold when he pours all of his Cheerios on the coffee table. And when I find myself starting to get annoyed, I remind myself of her, and that she wishes her problems were as insignificant as mine.