In February 2002, my worst fear came true. I lost my dad. The circumstances were unlike anything we could’ve imagined, as were the days and years following.
Fast forward to January 2003 when another local family was dealing with similar circumstances as they searched for a young teen girl and her boyfriend. Knowing all too well what the search entailed, my brother reached out to offer help. What we didn’t know was that by helping this family, we were starting something only God could have orchestrated.
Two grieving families began connecting through letters. Two grieving families offering comfort through times no one could navigate alone.
At first, that’s all it was – letters of support with words that made those left behind feel less alone. But then.
I was teaching high school when a new teacher joined our English department. We had potluck lunches and team meetings building a professional rapport not knowing there was more to our story. Until one day, I went to send her an email when I realized her name was all too familiar. I realized that name was the one I’d seen on so many letters from a family who knew exactly what my family was going through.
I asked her to come to my classroom where I shared my mom’s name. Immediately, we hugged. Immediately, that professional rapport became a friendship. That friendship became one I rely on as I grieve, parent, teach, and move forward.
Now, here we are almost 20 years after losing my dad and 19 since losing her sister. We’ve since lost my brother, her dad, and her father-in-law and my friend- her spunky mother-in-law. We’ve been beaten down more times than most, but it’s always her I go to when grief is more than heavy. We go to each other when it’s dirty, raw, and a bigger burden than we can carry alone.
We’ve already made plans to be together on February 28, the day my father went on his fishing trip 20 years ago and never came home. I’ll be there on the day the same happened to her sister. It’s just what we do after that big hug in my classroom so many years ago.
Grief does not go away as the years move on. We don’t miss them less or feel less hurt when we think of what could’ve been. Coming up on twenty years is really, really hard.
But on that hard day in February, the day my worst fear came true, I’ll be with my friend. Being real. Being honest.
Thank you, Dad. Thank you, Missy. Two grieving friends offering comfort through times no one could navigate alone. Grief is hard, but a friendship like this is only a gift two people made happen.