Strangers can heal.

I know her name is Diana, and she’s about the age of my mother. She works at our local Starbucks and over the past half a year, I’ve met her 2-3 times a week at the shop’s drive-through window. We greeted each other, then she handed me my Grande Iced Latte without Ice. We never talked much, but I loved her smile.

Soon we started exchanging names and having light-hearted conversations that are a bit more than “can I have some napkins?” and “thank you.”

“How are you today?” Diana would ask. “Not bad, just sent off the kiddo to her daycare, can’t wait for the camping trip this weekend!”

Then she’d give me some simple, crunchy tips about camping (she’s been a camper for 40 years!) Then we’d laugh for a second until we realized there were cars waiting behind mine, and I’d move and say bye.

My relationship with this stranger unfolded in what feels like a static way. Nothing seems to be going on, but something very real is happening; we don’t know much about each other, but we feel we’ve known each other like long-time neighbors. Soon, it has become a daily expectation to meet Diana when I go to the same Starbucks drive-through. And if I don’t, there’s a fleeting second of disappointment.

This stranger Diana doesn’t feel like a stranger at all. And she brings me a sense of assurance outside of my unpredictable coaching and life events, which is exactly what I need.

This sense of assurance is like this:

You’ve never had a cathartic wine talk with this person, but you know when you speak to her, she will give you the 2-3 minutes of her busy, precious life, and listen to you.

Just that is enough.

The two of you are like two stars lightyears apart but sensing each other’s light and warmth day in and day out. There’s caring, and there’s also spontaneous, unsaid but known respect towards boundaries; there’s a friendly exchange of feelings, but no one is being asked for or sharing too much.

It’s just three minutes at a small window when that exchange happens. And everything — the energy, the distance, and even the setting of a small drive-through way and a lightly painted pick-up window — feels just right, as if they were smartly designed and staged for a small segment of a movie.

Just about two weeks ago, when I passed Diana’s window, I saw her swollen eyes when she handed me my Iced Latte without Ice.

“What’s the matter, Diana?”

“My mom is going to pass away anytime today. She’s 96. And my brothers and their families are all with her in her bedroom now.”

“Do you want to be there for her too?”

“Yes, but I need some time to get my mind ready. I don’t want to show up in front of her sobbing, and staying here for a bit longer helps.”

“She has had a full and fun life, hasn’t she?” I said.

“Oh she surely has. And she said a long time ago that she was ready.”

“Just make sure you take good care of yourself…and perhaps take two weeks off, to let things go.”

Diana nodded: ”thank you.”

These three minutes of chat felt magical. I know I gave Diana what exactly she needed at that moment. Maybe it was the reason for me to show up at her window today — not for the latte, but for the words, and the sense of assurance that I gave her this time.

The sense of assurance for what? Knowing that someone will listen and care.

The next morning, I saw Diana again and asked her “how’s everything?”

“My mom left yesterday, peacefully. And I’ll follow your suggestion and take two weeks off heading to my daughter’s in Maine.” As she talked, she finished making my latte and handed it to me.

“See you in two weeks, I know you’ll have a good time there.”

I left Starbucks. It was a different vibration I felt within me before and after. I wanted to buy her coffee, then quickly realized it was probably the silliest idea for a gift for her, given that she worked at a coffee shop.

Or maybe that’s exactly the way the story between Diana and I should go: nothing superfluous or material, so that we can maintain its pure essence which is unconditional caring and appreciation. It’s empty, but it’s real.