Just over two years ago, my friend Michelle’s daughter was gearing up for her senior year of high school. It was the first day of school and she was on her way to class when she was in a horrific car accident. It was devastating and she was in a coma for months. It was a difficult time to say the least. Her daughter and my son were close in age and this accident really hit close to home.
Michelle and I went to college together. We bonded over beer and the Indigo Girls. We went out, talked about boys, talked about the future, hung out with our friends, helped mend broken hearts, celebrated relationship victories, stressed about exams, got drunk, shared late night pizzas, borrowed each other’s clothing, everything college-age friends do together. We lived our best college life. After graduation, before the dawn of social media, we all went our separate ways. Many of us lost touch. But we fondly remembered our college days.
Years later, with the emergence of Facebook and Instagram, we all eventually reconnected. It was like no time had passed. Those years that separated us didn’t change our relationships at all. So when Michelle moved to Pittsburgh, we would occasionally get together for lunch, share texts back and forth and an occasional phone call. Yes, we were busy. We were mothers and wives and employees and volunteers and daughters and sisters. But we reconnected and would sometimes get together to share a Bloody Mary in the Strip District. We had picked up exactly where we had left off.
So when this accident occurred, it was shattering mentally and emotionally. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through and was really at a loss for what to do or say. So I tried to be there in any way that I could. Her daughter was in a coma for months. I would visit, hold Michelle’s hand, hug her, and just be there. We cried together and sat in silence together. There were no words that could fix the hurt, the pain, the fear, and the sadness. So I would pray that Rita would wake up. I would ask others to pray. I tried to visit at least once a month, but looking back I could have done more. I could have visited more. I could have been there more.
After what seemed like forever, her daughter began making progress. She began to improve; Rita finally woke up! I was an amazing day. There were finally tears of joy, there was the miracle for which we had been praying. I continued to visit, to see how she was progressing with therapy, etc. She had to learn how to walk again, how to feed herself again, how to do everything all over again. But she was making incredible strides and was making a miraculous recovery.
By June of the following year (10 months after the accident) her daughter was doing amazingly well, had actually graduated high school, and the family was moving to Colorado. Her husband had a great job opportunity and it was closer to both of their families. I was sad when they moved, because I had not gotten to visit them as much as I would have liked. There was always something more important, more pressing, but I was so happy for all of them. They had a walking, talking, living, breathing miracle in their lives, and they were making the most of every minute.
The family moved to Colorado, and things were going well. Then in the fall of 2018, Michelle was diagnosed with a brain tumor, glioblastoma. And it was inoperable. When I found out I was angry, I mean really angry. How could she have an inoperable brain tumor? How was it possible that it was glioblastoma, the most common and most aggressive form of brain cancer? How could this be happening to her and her family after all they had already endured over the last 14 months? Why would God give this suffering to their family? How much could one family endure? And the only thing I could continually ask was why? I didn’t understand then; I still don’t understand now.
I have been thinking a lot about all of this over the past several weeks, because of the time of year that it is. I think about Michelle, I think about her husband and her daughter and her son (who is Marine). That suffering didn’t make sense then, and I will be honest it still doesn’t now.
Michelle died on January 2, 2019. I will never understand why, and I can’t wait to ask God someday. I know there was a reason, a purpose, and some greater good that will or has come out of all of that. So I will be grateful for the time I got share with my friend, thankful that we were able to reconnect nearly 2 decades after college, appreciative that I got to know and be a part of her family for a little while – even though it was during some of the most painful moments of her life. I am thankful because what I learned from her is summed up in the line of one of our favorite Indigo Girls songs – “the best thing you’ve ever done for me, is to help me take my life less seriously.”
It doesn’t diminish hurt or make me miss her less. There are days when I want to call or text her, but I can’t. So I just pray and remember to live my best life. Michelle lived her best life, of that I am sure. She was a free spirit, a light that radiated joy and love, an honest and outspoken friend who had your back, who lived life on her terms, and seized every moment. So today I will remember Michelle, I will live my best life, I will not take anything for granted and I will make the most of this time that God has given me. Michelle, until we meet again, I will remember you with love and joy.
Live your best life, don’t take anything for granted, and make time for others because you don’t know when they will be taken from you. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.
Tattoos, Motorcycles, Beer, Bourbon and Faith 