On the first day of 3rd grade, I sat down at my assigned seat next to a girl with blond curly hair and bright eyes. I looked over at her paper desk pencil name tag and read her name out loud as a way of introducing myself. She promptly corrected my pronunciation of her last name. That little blond girl with bright eyes became my best friend after that day, and today, I found out that she passed away.
I cannot wrap my head around this loss. From 3rd grade to 7th grade we were almost sisters, and I always regret the falling out we had, and I always feel like I blew up the friendship. And yet, we found a way to stay in touch, to have moments of friendship, to see each other in our adult years.
For a time, she spent most of her weekends with my sister and me. She came over, slept over, and even went on family vacations. We went to school together and came home together. We fought like sisters. We ganged up on my sister, my sister and I ganged up on her. There was drama, inevitably, especially in our angsty tween years, and there was lots of dancing to Spice Girls. Even after we parted ways, she never left my heart. I thought about her often and always.
And she will never leave my heart.
This grief feels exaggerated, and yet, it feels like it’s not enough. It’s irrational, after all these years, to feel so much pain over someone I haven’t seen since I moved to Washington. And yet, the pain is there. It comes in waves, washes over me as I think about never having the possibility to talk to her again, never seeing her face or a new picture of her. It breaks me to think of what her mom and her brothers and her daughter are going through. It breaks me to think about all the fun times we had together and all the times we could have had if I’d been a better friend all those years ago.
I hope that she is with her dad and with God now. Her faith and joy and kindness will always be remembered.