I darted into the cafe quickly to escape the bitter cold of the drizzly winter morning. It felt odd to be empty-handed... lost without the weight of the diaper bag on my shoulder and the bulk of the stroller and carseat that nearly always accompanied me these days, but at the same time, I felt as settled and comfortable as I always felt on Friday mornings when the smell of coffee hit my nose and the smiling face of Sheila, Matthew's mother and my newest friend and fellow mother, came into view.

"Hey," I whispered, sliding into the booth across from her and pulling off my wet jacket as she passed me a cup of coffee.

"One sugar, no cream," she winked as the smile spread across my face and I began to drink, inhaling the sweet aroma as the coffee warmed my entire body. It was truly heaven in a mug... and Sheila had obviously caught on quickly that my order stayed the same week after week, no matter the weather.

"Just the way I like it," I sighed as I set the cup down in front of me and stifled a small yawn, "Sorry I'm late again this morning, I may have overslept just a smidge."

She laughed, "He's still not sleeping throught the night huh?"

I shook my head, not only was Matthew not sleeping through the night, Aj and I had suddenly discovered a new found love of each other's bodies. But that was not something I'd ever admit... not to Sheila or anyone else.

"The little poot has decided to go on total sleep strike!" I rolled my eyes and we both laughed.

I shook my head and stared across the table to where Sheila glanced down at the menu. I couldn't help but be amazed by the woman I'd come to know so well over the past few weeks. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, she was wearing a pretty Christmas sweater and her makeup looked far more perfect than mine had probably looked in months. She simply amazed me.

It seemed so strange to be in a cafe with a woman who only weeks before had lost a child, talking about such mundane things as my son not sleeping as often as I'd like, when I knew in my heart that I was talking to a woman who would probably give up every good night of sleep for the rest of her life, if it meant having the chance to spend those nights with her son. But it was what it was... and these were the things we talked about every week without fail. And somewhere along the line I decided that it must be okay. I remembered learning in nursing school many years before during a class on death and grief (as if any class could really teach you exactly how to deal with something so powerful and so painful) that you should let the grieving individual lead the way... and that's exactly what Sheila had done.

For the past several weeks we'd been getting together in the same coffee house on Friday mornings and sitting in the same booth and drinking the same coffee. And every week we talked about all of the same things and everything different all at once. Most of our Fridays would start with Sheila asking about baby Matthew and how he was growing and how he was sleeping and together we would marvel over his new developments or laugh over Aj's funny mishaps and she would share her best pieces of motherly advice with me. And I alternately loved those moments... and felt horrible about them. Because often as Sheila would share her own memories of her own Matthew as a baby, the tears would well up in her eyes, or trickle down her cheeks, and all I could think about was how damn unfair this world could be and how I hoped to God I would never be the one sitting in that position across the table because there is no way I could ever be so strong.

But the moments would pass and the tears would dry and our discussions would turn to other things... happier things. Like sweet Molly. Now six years old, Sheila bragged on how well she was doing in school and how, even though it had been difficult for her without Matthew around, she was such a strong little girl. We would laugh over her silly stories, like how she'd suddenly developed a strong desire to dress up in her brother's hand-me-downs. Forget the dresses and frilly girly clothes... she'd gone totally tomboy. But Sheila didn't care so long as she was healthy and happy.

We talked for hours one Friday morning about how Sheila had finally decided to travel again... and this time with Molly. She'd confided in me that she was hoping to pick up where she and her husband had left off and she hoped that eventually she and Molly would travel all over the world... like her dad had always dreamed. We'd even devised a crazy plan where the two of them would travel to Europe in April, because Europe was where the boys would be playing during the first leg of their tour and I promised that when she did, the two of us would get together and go out for a night on whatever town in whatever country we happened to meet up in. And Sheila made me promise that when we got together we would visit whatever famous landmark we could find and take silly pictures... and we would smile and laugh and have fun just as her son and her husband would have wanted. They were certainly promises I planned on keeping.

We talked about the movie... which was nearly done now, and how pleased we both were with how it was turning out. I would bring my laptop with me and the two of us would sit together while I edited and we would talk and smile and cry over all of the footage I'd recorded and cut and spliced and saved. It was hard to believe that my year long project would be coming to an end in just a couple weeks. It may not exactly have been the kind of "Life" movie I was looking for, but it was certainly a movie that chronicled life... and death... and life again. And I was excited to see the final product and to share it with my family and friends.

On this Friday, the weather outside was chilly and the air inside was warm and the coffee was comforting and so we sat and listened to the Christmas music that played throughout the store and we took comfort in knowing that we were inside, warm and cozy and that our families... both at home, and in Heaven, were safe.

"This was Matthew's favorite song," Sheila whispered when Rocking Around the Christmas Tree started playing throughout the shop.

I laughed, thinking of my husband dancing around the house the night before, our son cradled tightly in his arms, singing that exact same song, "Matthew had good musical taste then," I smiled, "Aj loves this song too."

She sighed, "It definitely won't be the same without him this year. I mean... I feel like I should be out shopping for whatever the newest video game system is... or that I should be looking for the most comfortable Christmas pajamas for the hospital and treatment. It's so different with just Molly and me. I love spending time with Molly though... and she definitely deserves a Christmas at home... away from hospitals. I can't believe she's six years old and she's never had a normal Christmas before. I guess I can at least be thankful that the two of us can share a quiet day at home... and decorate a real tree... and bake cookies together." I watched as more tears glistened in Sheila's eyes.

I nodded. How heartwrenching to know that Sheila had to battle with the thoughts in her mind that even if she could have back the one thing she wanted most in the world, she would also have to take back a hundred of the things she wanted the least. To be given just one more day with your child... even if it meant that day would be spent in the hospital, with treatments and pain and medicines. When your child is alive and you're doing everything in your power to keep them that way... well one more day, even with pain and hospitals and treatments is a bargain you might take. Once they're gone... you begin to realize, that even one more day wouldn't be worth watching your child go through any of that ever again.