The Kindness of Strangers

Every time I take my kids grocery shopping, I return with a week’s worth of food and a lifetime’s worth of regret. Every time, I search my soul for an answer to the question: Why don’t I have groceries delivered? 

Recently, I took the kids shopping after picking up my 3-year-old from preschool. I had 80 minutes before we had to be home for lunch. In my mind, it seemed totally reasonable.  

I arrived at preschool pick-up a couple of minutes early. When my daughter saw me, she pronounced, “I wasn’t expecting you.” We were off to a great start.

After a drama-filled car ride, we finally pulled up to the store and the place was jamming. We did not have time to search for parking.

After several loops around the lot, I slid into a spot, unbuckled the girls, and strode across the pavement as quickly as one can while carrying a 17-month-old and holding a 3-year-old’s hand. 

By the time we entered the supermarket, my arm burned under the baby’s weight. I set her down in search of a dry cart on a rainy day, but all they had were the handheld kind that hold just a few Lean Cuisines and no people. To my horror, I turned around to find the baby toddling toward a towering drink display. I collected her, instructed my 3-year-old not to move, dashed back outside, grabbed a drenched racecar cart, and with all the force I could muster, pushed it up the ramp with one hand.

I did not have time for a wet racecar cart.

Inside the store, I set the baby down, told my 3-year-old to hold her hand, and tore off in search of a towel. I grabbed a box of tissues from the service desk and sprinted back in time to prevent a Gatorade avalanche.

And then, an angel approached.

She had long, curly, black hair, glasses, and a loaf of bread. When she spoke, harp music drowned out the sound of Taylor Swift emanating from the speakers. 

“Can I help you?” she asked.

I could have wept in gratitude.

“Um, yes…”

“What can I do?” she asked, concern in her eyes.

 “I’m not sure. I’m… overwhelmed.”

Just then, the service desk guy whose Kleenex I’d stolen appeared with a legit roll of paper towels. He ripped off a bunch and handed them to Angel Woman. I stood there like an idiot, holding the baby and my toddler’s hand while they wiped the cart. Sheepishly, I told the clerk I’d created a mess and pointed at the puddle while Angel Woman  crooned to my kids.

“You are being so patient. You are both waiting so nicely. I’m a mommy, so I know how hard it can be for kids to be patient,” she said soothingly.

We made eye contact and exchanged a smile. She didn’t have to mention she was a mom. I knew the moment I saw her, that she really saw me. She didn’t look at me as a nuisance taking up the whole entryway and a couple of unsupervised rug rats. She saw a tired mom with two kids, a wet cart, an empty fridge, and 45 precious minutes to get through the store.

Her small act of kindness meant so much. When I asked myself again, why I didn’t buy my groceries online, it hit me. If I hadn’t come to the supermarket, I wouldn’t have been reminded that angels exist. 

Wherever you are, thank you, Mama. 

Pam Moore helps women push through fear to become their best selves, even in the grocery store.