Letting Go.

Forgiveness is a funny thing. It's a funny thing that I've struggled with as long as I can remember. My siblings and I often try and figure out which parent we are more like. Among many other traits, we're all a little crazy and kooky like my mom and we're all a little stubborn (maybe me the most) like my dad. My mom used to say that my dad and I butted heads so much because we were so similar. Most people will say that they were raised in a way that they could tell right from wrong. I've always held myself to such a high standard, and mostly unknowingly, I hold others that highly as well. I treat people with respect and honesty, and I expect others to do the same.

 In the last few weeks before my mom died, I never wanted to imagine the worst. But the worst was coming. As the realization slowly crept into my mind that we would lose her, I clung to my family. I clung to my boyfriend (now fiance). And I clung to my friends. If you know my family, you know that we are intensely private people. I struggled with the creation of this blog at first because I was afraid to let go of some of the personal feelings that only a few know. I let my closest friends know that my mom was gravely ill, and I'm sure they all put the pieces together that she probably wouldn't be getting better. I can't imagine how they felt. Everyone tells me that they don't know how my siblings and I do this. Live without our parents. Well I know that answer, but what I don't know is how my friends do it. I don't know how my fiance does it. I hate that I'm the girl who lost both of her parents, but I know how to be that girl. I've talked all about breathing and smiling and it really does work. You really can heal. But I've never had to be a friend to someone in such intense tragedy. I've never had to try and love someone through their pain. I've never wondered what I could say or do in a situation where there seems to be nothing to say or do. I've only ever been the one who is consoled. I've never been the consoler. I never really realized that until just now.

 When my mom died, I didn't have a checklist of expectations for my friends. They didn't have to provide answers, they didn't have to try and make me smile. The only expectation I had of them was that they would be there. There is a relative term. I knew that not everyone could be at my house in the days following her death. We are scattered across many states, but I needed to feel their warmth. I wanted to feel their love. I was enveloped in the arms of my family, but I still needed my friends. I needed that handful of people who God brought into my life and with whom our friendships are uniquely special. And there they were. In phone calls, in cards, in person, and in prayer. I didn't have to ask them. They were just there. Having my friends there for me could never bring back my mom, but they were a reminder of God's goodness and provision. They were a reminder of love. And they still are. It's funny because when you're in college, you make friends and you can't imagine that you won't be friends forever. Attending a small college, I thought I was one of the lucky ones who really would keep her same group of friends forever. I am one of the lucky ones because a few of them still are. Our friendship has transitioned as we have transitioned. We have grown closer even as the miles between us have grown larger. But one of the most unexpected sadnesses of being the one who needs consoled is when friends let you down.

The realization that a friendship was never built to last and was only superficial hits you like a ton of bricks when you're already sad. I expected to be sad in the days, weeks, and even years after I lost my mom, but I didn't expect the heartache of realizing that friendships are never what you thought. People you thought would be there in an instant suddenly aren't. I was surrounded by family and love, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being let down by some friends. I was angry, I was sad, and I was disappointed. I kept reversing the situation. If it were me, I would be there in an instant. I would write a letter, I would call. It took me a while to realize that my expectations are not what everyone else's are. People don't always do what you think they will. They don't always act the way you want. It hurts when someone isn't there for you. It's not the end of the world, but it hurts.

Realizing that a friendship was never what you thought hurts too. People say that time heals everything. I don't know if I believe that completely. I think time gives you clarity. Time helps you to realize what's important. Friendships end. People don't do what you think they will. You realize that you weren't as close to someone as you once thought. But that's life. Life is too precious to keep anger in your heart. About a year after my mom died, I started to feel peace. The hurt I clung to had slowly faded away, not because it was almost a year but because in that year I realized that I love a lot of people. I didn't think that love would be the theme of this blog, but it's coming up in almost everything I'm writing. I always thought that I wasn't capable of forgiveness because it meant that what you did to me was okay. And truthfully, it probably won't ever be okay, but I'm okay. And I love you anyway. That's not to anyone in general, that's just the peace that I've found. We live in a fallen world. All we can do until the day when Christ returns is surround ourselves with those we love. That's what I've learned through all of this. People can hurt you. People will disappoint you. But people can also make you feel loved. They can make you laugh and make you feel like your day was a little brighter. I am a sinful, imperfect person. But I can love you with all that I am. I will love you with my whole heart. I hope that those closest to me know how much I value their friendship and how their love has brought me peace.