On Tinkerbells

A couple years ago, Mom asked if my sister and I would like to be summer substitutes in her Tuesday card group. We weren’t too sure, but agreed to “fill in as needed.” We didn’t really know the other women; at best, they were acquaintances. I wasn’t looking for a new friend group, but joining a card game now and then sounded fun.

Think back two years. Covid what? Pandemic? No way. Family tragedy? Not my family.

But here we are. Covid-19, masks, shutdowns, isolation, remote learning, loss.

Finally, vaccinations.

The Tinkerbells, as this group is known, are back in business, stronger than ever. I thank God for them every day.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m not friend shopping. I have terrific, faithful friends who continue to “love me anyway.” Friends who know the dark and twisty secrets of my past year. I wouldn’t trade them for anything and I’m not sure I’d have survived without them. I don’t want to find out. This isn’t about trading.

The Tinkerbells are a supplement — a weekly infusion of faith, friendship, and love. We are a web of retirees, master gardeners and church friends, sisters and cousins, moms, and daughters, and three summer girls. The group is a safe and soft landing place full of stories, laughter, genuine love, and occasional tears. We don’t all know one another well, but we know one another truly. The Tinkerbells are a weekly card-playing support group. Therapy.

Several Tinkerbells are also Moms Who Know. I’m selfish. For me, those women are a supplement within a supplement. Nobody understands quite like other Moms Who Know. People try; they definitely try. But how can they understand what we can’t explain or even comprehend ourselves? So . . . Moms Who Know. Moms who recognize a smile that stops long before it reaches my eyes, who pick up on the tenor of a conversation without hearing the words, who interpret body language and difficult topics and days that are just too much. Moms Who Know. Moms Who Know and share.

Yesterday was my daughter’s birthday. We met halfway between our homes, had lunch, did some shopping, and had as good a time as either of us can manage these days. We had a few hours together and it was priceless. Then she drove one way, I drove another, and the gloom infiltrated; my reprieve was over. By the time I got home I was in a teary funk, declaring myself bad company, turning down a friend’s invitation for patio time, closing my doors, and staying inside. The funk persisted today, but God has a way of intervening.

My Tinkerbell partner for the day was a Mom Who Knows. Others at the table have faced great loss. I don’t always talk about how hard this is — the day-to-day survival — and I try not to take my dark cloud everywhere I go, but today we talked. Tinkerbell time is supposed to be fun time, but it’s also therapeutic time. This Mom Who Knows shared her own experience from 29 years ago, from returning to work days after the funeral to facing the dreaded year of firsts and beyond. She is not the first Tinkerbell to share. She won’t be the last.

Then the question from another Tinkerbell: Have you heard God talking to you? Everyone else answered “yes”; I grumbled “not yet.” In unison, they assured me, “You will.” Maybe this snippet seems inconsequential, but reassurance matters. Acknowledgment matters. Understanding matters. Hope matters. Nobody tried to fix me today, to shoo away the tears or make me laugh when laughter was impossible. We played cards and talked. I cried some tears. We kept playing and talking.

Others noticed, but that’s okay; I didn’t try to hide the tears. We didn’t whisper. We told the stories of our lives, and not all stories are happy. Today was a hard day before I even got out of bed, but it was not a bad day. In fact, it was a pretty good day. Even though I spent my afternoon across from another Mom Who Knows, the safety and love, the gentle kindness of the group reached far beyond our table. One mom held my gaze, letting me know she knows, that she will see me next week at her house. Another messaged me this evening, assuring me she’s holding me in prayer. No fluff. No platitudes. Just love.

I tried to explain to a close friend how the group formed, how it started with four women and today we had sixteen playing, how we have families and friends together, how the connections overlap and intersect. Ultimately, though, I stopped trying to explain. This is not a group to be explained or understood, only accepted as a treasured gift.