to our friends, a giant thank-you

I have been amazed, blessed, blown away by the friends who check on me regularly. You don’t always know what to say, or how to help, but you want to be there.

A sweet friend I met through church (Grace Bible in the Heights) who I don’t see nearly as often as I would like sent me an email. “I just read your blog. I am crying sitting at my kitchen table.” I felt terrible that she was crying! I emailed back telling her to stop that and she said “If you’re sad, I’m sad.” That is, I’m pretty sure, to literally be Jesus to someone else.

Another friend I’ve known since I was fourteen texts or writes me notes on a regular basis to see how I’m doing dealing with Dad’s death.

She asked me a few months ago something specific about Dad, and I responded about something else. She didn’t let it slide. Her response later that night “I know you don’t want to talk right now, but I’m always here.” What an incredible comfort.

And then there’s a friend that I grew up with, living right down the street. She sent me a message after she went in her dad’s closet at her parent’s house. My dad’s memorial service program is on a shelf in her dad’s closet one year later. She wanted me to know that her dad really loved my dad. It brought a huge smile to my face that stayed there a while.

These friends don’t just help. They aren’t just extra to make me feel good. They are the arms that keep propelling me forward day after day and it somehow has added up to more than sixteen months of life without Dad, life with our family grieving, life with our hearts feeling like they were ripped out and we can’t find them and hoping oxygen will rush through our body soon because this whole not breathing thing hurts. It is the hugs and stories about Dad and the people that are just there that bring the oxygen rushing back into our bodies. They breathe faith and grace and love back to our weary souls. It’s these people that bring the truths of Heaven that often seem so far away …right up close.

Tons and tons of texts, handwritten notes, facebook messages, voicemail, poured in during the days following Dad’s accident. They meant a lot and helped me to never feel alone. And there are a few messages I cherish, rereading and rereading to remind myself of the comfort they brought.

My good friend William had even less time with his dad than I did with mine, and though younger than me he often seems wiser. He sent me this email almost immediately after my dad died. I wish I could tattoo it on myself to always have the warmth the words bring:

Your dad taught me how to drive a car, how to drive a boat, how to fix things, how to treat others, how to handle myself in adversity, but most importantly he taught me how to live my life again.

And William and his mom and his family do just that: they teach us how to live again, with questions we can’t answer and a hope we can’t explain.

And finally, I have to share something a friend did that many would not – she shared words that would likely be painful.

She emailed me, because she lives several states away, that she had had a nightmare.

“I had a nightmare that my Dad died last week. I woke up panicked and sad and overwhelmed. It lasted about 4 minutes. Then I realized it was a dream. Then I realized it is not a dream for you. And then I remained sad and overwhelmed. Not in a bad way…Just in a reality way.”

I remember thinking two things –she had guts to tell me that. It would have been easier to just think those thoughts and keep them to herself for fear of offending me or making me sad or whatever. But she didn’t let fear run her.

And I also thought, thank goodness. What a relief. Her words and her nightmare gave me the freedom to live my nightmare. When I first read her email it was almost exactly six weeks from Dad’s plane crash. And she was telling me – it’s okay to be panicked and sad and overwhelmed. She was, in her nightmare. So I could be, in reality. I didn’t have to hold it together. I didn’t have to be okay. This is a nightmare and no one will judge me for acting like it.

In short, friends have been like oxygen since dad stopped breathing. Friends have brought life as we deal with death. Friends have been brave and risked being awkward just so Gentry and Mom and Amy and Drew and me could know we’re loved. Friends have been bold and shared their own pain. Friends have been amazing. Jesus told us in John 15 to love each other as he has loved us. These people have been doing just that. 

And for that, I will forever, forever, be eternally thankful.