My best friend died a year ago. But the grief started when the realization hit that the Schules I knew wasn’t herself anymore.

I remember so vividly realizing that I had already had my last true conversation with my best friend and I didn’t even know it. I wouldn't be able to get her advice again, or sit and just laugh and joke with her ever again. She was in every facet of my life. Our kids went to school together, we were at home in each other's homes. We cleaned each other's messes and cooked each other meals. I remember showing up at her office to help stuff envelopes for flyers  just so we could hang out. 

I wish she knew how ingrained in my everyday life she still is. How my google docs are full of shared things between us, how she is still a favorite in my contacts, she’s still the first search result in my phone when I type the letter B. I wish I could get her advice on so many things. I wish I could tell her how many times I’ve shared things with no one, because they're not Schules and they just wouldn’t get it - it might be too crass, or too boring, or too mom-ish, or too anything. 

This is about my journey of grief, and what this loss has been for me. 

I remember learning early on in this grief journey that we often try to quantify our grief. You can sometimes try to measure your grief against another person to explain your suffering. We may try to minimize our pain by saying “well I didn’t lose as much as they did” or we may try to justify our pain by saying “I lost so much more”.  The truth is, once you’ve experienced sorrow, you’ve experienced sorrow. There is nothing to quantify or measure. Sorrow is just that, sorrow. 

I’ve learned a lot this year, and I have and am still experiencing sorrow. I’ve learned that I don’t regret any of the time or energy spent loving my best friend. I’ve also learned that I gave so much of myself in the journey of walking with someone so close to me down the road of cancer, while raising twin toddlers, working, being a wife, and maintaining other friendships, that I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I can see glimpses of the person who was, and I know she’s not lost, but she’s tired and she’s lonely. I can also see the repercussions reverberating outward. I see the toll it’s taken on my husband, some of my family, and my other friends. I often feel like I am a walking broken vessel just trying to find my way back together. I stopped running after she was gone, because the pain was too much. I couldn’t handle the thoughts in my head, so I quit. I love running. 

Navigating friendships has been hard, because it’s a painful reminder that my best friend is gone but it’s hopeful at the same time. I don’t know if anyone who hasn’t lost a close friend could understand the mind game it is to try to have a genuine friendship after loss. I find myself constantly wondering “is this a pity friendship?” “do I look desperate for connection?” “do they think I don’t have space for them?” but I keep showing up anyway. 

These are things I’ve done this year for you Schules, in one way or another they are in honor of you or because I know they would make you proud:

• I’m going to uncomfortable places

• I’m writing finally, a year later, because I know you would say something like “well, it might help and it doesn’t hurt to try. If you don’t like it just don’t do it again”. 

• I started hanging out with a group of girls even though I didn’t know ALL of them (shocker). 

• I’m asking for what I want and need

• I started doing yoga again.

• I went to Arizona

• I went to see TAYLOR SWIFT & I cried for you there but I also danced all night long and didn’t sit down.

• I drive with my windows down playing country music more than I ever have.

• I went to Greece for you.

• I got paddle boards, and I didn’t leave them down by the lake this time (lol, oops)

• I spent more time with my kids, and less time away from home. 

Today somehow feels like a milestone, and yet I know that’s not how grief works. It doesn’t do timelines, or important days, or milestones. It does waves and knocks you on your feet when. you least expect it. It does constant and ever changing.