On Fridays, I have coffee with mom and dad, my sister, and my niece. Sometimes dad dozes in his chair, or he smiles and talks about people we remember and places we've been while we hold hands. Sometimes my sister brings the sour cream donuts from Trader Joe's, or my niece blocks off some time to put the blonde highlights back in my hair. But there's always coffee, and there's always family.
One of these Fridays we spent holding tightly to my sweet niece who'd just lost her best friend since third grade. She'd gone on a waterfall tour while in Costa Rica and never came back out of the water after a dive. One minute she was full of life and the next minute she was gone forever. For years the girls had brought their families together for an annual camping trip at Big Lake, which they took just a little over a month ago. "I almost didn't go this year," my niece said, eyes red from too little sleep and too many tears. "We all changed our mind at the last minute. It was the best trip ever. I will never regret it."
I can not relate to the trauma of loosing someone so healthy in a tragic instant. But I know what its like to loose a friend in their thirties. When so much of life should still be happening. This week would have been my friend Jina's birthday. Jina had already been living with heart failure when I met her and I think she always knew she didn't have long. I think that's why she lived like someone running out of time, always seizing the day, always so extra. The end was relatively drawn out and she spent many months in and out of hospitals. There was this one day we were at a Bible study across the street from her house. I thought about popping by to check in on her when we left. But conversations went long. It got late. We were tired, and had to get back to our kids. So we didn't. When I saw my dear friend at church the next day, weak and pale I said, "We thought about coming by yesterday." The expression on her face wasn't hurt. It wasn't judgement or perturbment but she looked me in the eyes and said, "Why didn't you?"
That week, before I could see her again, she was rushed to the hospital. She coded multiple times in transit from one place to another. On arrival they put her in a medical coma and I held on to little hope I would ever speak to her again. But I did. She got to the point where she could be awake, and I could speak to her and for a little while she could speak too and I saw all the love and understanding and even forgiveness I prayed for. I hate that she's not here. I hate that she had to suffer so hard for so long. But I love that I got that second chance and that those regrets were not my last memories.
This week keep thinking about my niece's words about what a gift she had been given to have changed her mind and went on that camping trip. How when those intrussive thoughts of last moments and and "what ifs" attack, she can counter them with these memories of winning the corn hole tournament and watching their kids make mud pies.
At the moment I have 896 Facebook friends. You might have more (especially if you're better at keeping your thoughts to yourself...). But either way, we can not say all the yeses for 896 people. We can not feel guilty for not making time for all 896 camping trips or unexpected drop-ins. But there's those people, who are "our people." The handful. And there's no ghosting, no cancelling, no letting the sun go down on our anger. We sit in the tension of our differences because they're worth it. They're worth dropping everything, and bottling the memories with. Collect the moments. Jar Them. Store them and savor them. You have no idea how much you may need those someday.
I'm not an adaptable person, and I'm not good at this. I'll just say it. I have a schedule, and a list on my refrigerator of all the things I need to accomplish. But, each day I pray God makes me into the person who would trade everything for loving Him and people well.
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