There are moments in our lives that change us. Experiences that touch us so deeply that they inform every other action from then on – their lessons learned and carried with us for the rest of our journey.

Some come from the regret of careless words or reckless deeds. Some live in the negative -  the void of what could have or should have been - actions not taken or tender words left unsaid.

Yesterday, I had one of those moments.

In the middle of a long and winding road, I discovered and finally came to understand the simple truth that it is never too late to say what should be said. That we don’t have to wait until we have the 'right' words to say to SAY SOMETHING. That too late might turn out to be right on time.

Nearly a year ago, a fellow Mama blogger, Vicki Forman suddenly and heartbreakingly lost her son, Evan. It was horrifying.

I was brand new to this world back then. I had not known of her until the blog community feverishly rallied around her in the days following Evan's passing. Overnight, Vicki’s name and her story were everywhere I turned.

I began to read her blog. I was riveted. Not by the end of Evan’s story but by his incredible, awe-inspring life. By the humble determination and powerful strength of both mother and son. By the tenderness and relentless honesty with which she told their story. By the overwhelming love that radiated from the page.

I continued to read Vicki's blog, Speak Softly. I went farther and farther back and began living the day-to-day along with her and Evan. I had the luxury of turning the past tense into the present. In the words that she had written, her son was very much alive. The beauty of his legacy was already established.

I wanted to say something to Vicki. I couldn’t imagine what.

I ordered a copy of the anthology, Love You to Pieces and pored over Vicki’s contribution to it. I wept as I read. I still didn’t know what to say. I convinced myself it was too late to say anything at all.

Vicki had posted about the book that she had written, This Lovely Life - the incredible story of Evan and his twin sister, who passed on within days of their extremely premature birth. The book went on sale last month. I was told that it sold out on Amazon within short order. I was not remotely surprised by its success.

I had already ordered my copy and was eagerly awaiting its arrival when my blog friends began to talk about it.

“You HAVE to read this book, Jess.”

“Jess, you don’t understand. Get it NOW.”

“This book will change you.”

Once again, Vicki was everywhere I turned.

When my older daughter, Katie grappled with the loss of her first pet on Tuesday night, my mind wandered to Vicki. The scope of her loss remains unfathomable to me. My heart ached for her all over again - for all of the mothers who have lost a child.

I mentioned her and linked to her blog in the post I wrote about Katie the following day.

When I woke up yesterday morning, there was a simple, gracious comment awaiting approval. Thank you for the mention and the honor.

Vicki’s name on my screen pulled back the curtain. That was all I needed. I decided that not knowing what to say or how to say it was no longer going to stop me from saying something. I had to reach out to her.

And so I wrote back.

Vicki,

I have to start out with an admission. I have been a coward.

I am terribly ashamed to admit that, but there it is.

I started my blog a little over a year ago now. I had just begun to discover the glorious village of special needs mothers out in the ether when Evan passed away. I had no idea how interconnected we all were until that day. I was deeply moved by the outpouring of love and support for you and your dear boy. It was obvious that both you and he had touched people’s lives, changed them, connected them to yourselves and to one another. The shock, sadness and grief at Evan’s passing were palpable and inescapable. Everywhere I turned, there they were.

I joined the mourning in my own way - for you, for this incredible little boy who I subsequently began to know and to fall in love with as I read back over your words. I wished desperately that I’d found you earlier. I wished that I was strong enough to not care if it was ‘appropriate’ for me to reach out to you after his passing.

I watched in awe as the pictures came in of the flowers on swings across the country. Again, I was moved to the depths of my soul by the perfection of the tribute. I quietly set flowers on the swing in my back yard. I still didn’t feel I had the right to photograph them and send them, but I put them there nonetheless. Quietly honoring a spirit that was so much stronger than any I can imagine.

I bought Love You To Pieces and cried my way through your piece. It was stunning in its honesty and simple grace. I held my breath all the way through. But still, I held you at arm’s length. I just didn’t know how to reach out.

A friend of mine has a son with a devastating disorder called SMA. Some time ago, I heard that things had recently taken a dire turn. I struggled with whether or not to call my friend at work. I know sometimes we all need to compartmentalize our lives to get by. Or at least I do. Perhaps he couldn’t handle the emotion. Perhaps it would be uncomfortable.

I decided to make the call. I asked him if he wanted to talk. I’ll never forget his answer. With a weight of the world sigh he simply said, “Thank you, Jess.”

I was puzzled by his response. He said, “People don’t ask. Our situation is everyone’s worst nightmare. They have no idea what to say and they fear their own reactions. It means the world to me that you asked.”

That conversation came back to me the other night. How is that now that your book is out and everyone in my autism mom world – EVERYONE – has told me that I HAVE to read it (it’s on order, mind you) – how is it that I still haven’t found the strength to reach out to you? How is it that I still haven’t learned that I don’t necessarily have to have the right words – but that I can simply say, ‘I’ve thought of you. I honor you. I FEEL for you. I have learned from you. I am humbled by your honesty and grace’.

How?

And then this morning, there you were. And I could no longer hide behind my computer screen.

I apologize that it took so long.

Warmly,

Jess

I watched it disappear as I hit send and hoped that I’d done the right thing.

And then I got Vicki’s response. Warm and accepting and beautiful.

…. Please do not be ashamed or apologetic. I have always felt the deep, thick reach of arms in my life this past year, and so I knew yours were there, even if the High Five you might have sent didn’t show up in real time or dimension. So today yours was there when I needed it most, and that’s what matters ….

I took a deep breath. Yes, some moments simply change us. This one is now etched in my heart.

Indeed what we think is too late might be right on time.

Thank you, Vicki - for graciously allowing me to share our conversation and for the incredible gift therein.

Jess can be found at Diary of a Mom