So much happens in the little time we have. Yet we squander hours, days, even years. I'm writing for me tonight, because it's the only way I know to process my thoughts, to unburden my heart.
With all our household has been dealing with, I have had little time or energy to keep up with other people's lives. Facebook is a tool, but it can easily become a snare that creates bitterness and pain...I have backed away from peeking into the virtual windows like I used to, though I still love to see my friends with their growing families and hear the cute things kids say. So when I catch a picture that was just posted, it's great. But for months before I got sick, I had used it for little more than messaging people that I knew would be on.
But I woke up this morning too uncomfortable to roll over and go to sleep, so I started browsing. I haven't heard from one particular friend through this whole thing, which seemed odd, given her motherly personality.
Tonight I found out that she is gone. Just like that. I haven't seen her in years. It's been a few months since I even emailed her...but she has been one of my closest confidonts since before I was married. When things got rough, I could always cry to her. She is one of a very small handful of people who has loved me 100% as I came; never trying to change me or adjust my path for me.
We need people in our lives who mold us and push us out of our comfort zones...but just as much, we need people who love us as we are and don't care if we never change, but are always happy with who we are. Amanda was one of those gems for me.
Thank you, Lord, for tears! Until this moment, I could not weep for the loss of my friend.
I lived across the hall from her at college. We worked together at camp. We acted together on stage. We spent hours sitting on eachother's dorm room floor, talking, laughing, crying.
I was a brides maid and I sang in her wedding. It was a beautiful wedding, and she was so happy. At the reception the wedding party had these pretty blue glasses with pewter dragons on them (perfect for her personality). My glass broke years ago in a move, but I kept the dragon. As I write, it is within arm's reach, in my jewelry chest.
She never quit trying to improve herself. She wanted to help people. So she got all this schooling so she would know how, and then she went into social work instead of a job that would make big bucks.
She loved her daughter.
She loved her husband.
She never gave up on anyone.
She loved to laugh.
She was pregnant and excited about another baby.
She enjoyed theater, music, books, movies...
I miss my friend. I will miss the comfort of her answering email when I am down. I will miss the funny quips she always had when I was being a bit over emotional or unreasonable. I can't believe I'll never hear her laugh again. I'm so glad I told her often that I loved her. I hope she knew I meant it from the bottom of my heart.
Once again, I feel the frailty of our flesh. It has been so real to me since I got sick; that a disease could invade my body and turn my whole world upside down while I went day to day unsuspecting. And again in the early hours of this Sunday morning, I hear the difference one car trip makes. One wrong move, one careless moment and our fragile body is undone.
Don't waste your moments. You don't have a guarantee on the next one. Hold your family. Enjoy your little ones. Live as though today is the last day you can show them that you love them. Love your spouse, hug your best friend. Maybe you will have decades together, but maybe not. Pray for your family. Tell the unbelievers of God's love. Be a light for as long as God allows you to shine. And don't be afraid to say "I love you." Mean it. It's not hard, so tell them. Look right into your daughter's eyes and tell her. If it's the last thing you get to say to her, it will be the right last thing.
To Amanda's family and other friends, I am so sorry for your loss. Carl, I will be praying for you and your daughter. I will miss her terribly. Even states apart, I could always count on her...
Don't waste your moments.