Last night, we had an old friend from school over for dinner. No big event. No big plan. Just a quiet evening, to be. Maddie wanted to make dinner. And it was beautiful.
It was fun watching them goof around with my daughter—who is now the same age we were when we started school together. That realization alone was a little wild. I think I am still trying to process that.
Soon the conversation with the three of us turned into that familiar rhythm: who’s moved away, who’s stayed close, who married who, who we’ve lost. The memories rolled in like a movie we’ve watched a hundred times before. Haunted forests. Football games. Dance practices. Beastie Boys blasting from a boombox because the car radio was AM only.
A simpler time. A different kind of chaos. Before the world taught us what real loss was.
💭 Childhood Memories in an Adult Heart💭
Those days weren’t perfect—but they were ours. We were kids with curfews, breakouts the night before dances, and crushes that felt like the beginning of forever. We grew up, scattered like leaves in the wind, and life happened. Marriages. Children. Divorces. Jobs.
But sometimes, we circle back.
And last night, sitting across from friends I’ve known since before I even knew who I really was, I realized just how much those connections still mean.
💔 Grief, and the Friends Who Stayed💔
When Garet died, my entire world split apart. And let’s be honest—a lot of people didn’t know what to say. Shoot, I didn’t even know what to say. So they said nothing. Or they talked about me instead of to me.
But one person? She checked in.
Every single day.
My best friend from childhood—a constant in an inconsistent world. Her check-ins didn’t always come with answers. They didn’t fix the ache. But they reminded me that someone was still out there remembering me. Seeing me. Holding space for me. Not because she had to. Not because she lived with me. She just loved me for me and the years we have had together.
And all these years later, we still have that friendship. We still text back late or forget we never actually hit send. We still pick up where we left off like time hasn’t passed at all.
🌪 The Storm of Then & Now🌪
Grief does something strange—it turns time into a storm.
I’m still learning to be this version of me. The me who is mom to five children while mourning one. The me who is learning to function, to parent, to human in a world that feels wrong without him in it. The me still adjusting to only having four of the kids home with me now that Kaden moved out.
So when I get a chance to laugh with someone who knew me before, it’s like pressing pause on the grief. It’s a reminder that the old me is still in there, somewhere, learning how to exist in this new life.
And the people who see both versions—the girl I was, and the grieving mother I am now—and love me through both? That is a gift.
Even when my dark humor slips out. Even when I cry in the middle of a memory. Even when I’m quiet for weeks. They’re still there.
Not because they have to.
Not because we’re related.
But because they choose to be.
💬 To the Ones Who Don’t Know They Matter💬
If you’re one of those friends who still checks in, even when you’re not sure what to say:
You matter.
If you’re the one who texts, even when your friend forgets to reply for days:
Thank you.
If you’ve held space for someone in grief—**even when it hurts your own heart to watch them break—**you’ve done something powerful.
You’ve stayed.
🕊 A Note on the Times We’re Living In 🕊
Watching the kids growing up these last few years, I keep thinking about how many reunions are happening too soon. Not at school dances or football games—but at funerals.
Fentanyl is taking too many.
Too young.
Too fast.
I’m grateful that our mistakes weren’t always fatal when we were teens. We didn’t have the world our kids are trying to survive in now. I wish it was still like that.
💌 Reach Out. Say Hi. Be That Friend.💌
So here’s your reminder, (if you need one):
💬 Text the old friend.
📞 Call the person you haven’t spoken to in years.
💌 Send a message just to say “I was thinking of you.”
🌈 Share a memory that will make them smile.
Because you never know what that message might mean on someone’s hardest day. (And besides, making someone else happy makes your own heart happy too, right?)
And to those who have stuck around for me—thank you. You know who you are and I love you all. (and to my poor sister, who had to watch me crumble when she had JUST had their new baby, I am so, so sorry.)
You have no idea how much it matters.
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