This World is *Still* a Possibility

Rest in peace, Kristin. Love you more than ever. Choir dorks for life. <3








I usually don’t post notes like this, but this is a love letter to all of my friends. It starts with a little back-story, but the message is for anyone who cares to read on. And yes, I acknowledge that Facebook is in no way a sufficient medium to say this. But this is easier than saying it face-to-face. Bear with me.

A year ago today a darling friend of mine died suddenly. It was quite a blow to everyone who knew her. I don’t pretend that losing her was hardest on me—her family, significant other, and very close friends experienced a loss that I can’t even imagine. I also don’t pretend that my grief was any bigger or worse than that of anyone else who loved her. All I know is that my own grief was pure, and it was deep. I still sorely miss my surrogate big sister, mentor, and friend.

In the days following Kristin’s death, some tried to console me by suggesting explanations for her passing. Don’t get me wrong; I believe that God works in mysterious ways and that there had to be a reason. I just don’t think it was so simple or obvious that I, or anyone else in this realm, would be able to figure it out. Still, I gratefully understand that many meant to find comfort in some explanation for our friend’s death. Someone said at one point, “I think sometimes God takes these people early to shine a light on how special they were, to inspire us to live the way she did.”

I was so grateful for the attempt to make me feel better, but here’s the thing: I already knew how much she meant to me. It never went unsaid between us—I thanked God every day for her. I thanked her to her face whenever I had the chance. I didn’t need to lose her to be made fully aware of what she meant to me. I knew already.

And for that, I’m writing to tell you that I LOVE YOU! Deeply and passionately, I care about each and every one of you (yes, you reading this. You personally). This past year brought with it an incredibly heavy load to bear. It was really rough, but the hardest parts are over now. Because of that experience, I am infinitely aware and appreciative of the endless patience and love that I have in you, my friends. I don’t need to lose any of you to fully realize what you mean to me—I already know. I am very privileged, honored, and blessed that you are a part of my life. Thank you for that. I love you all.

Thanks especially to the people who were there from the minute that it happened and onward. You know who you are. You helped me pick up the pieces at the moment when it seemed the most impossible. You cried with me, you listened to me, you consoled me, even when all I wanted was to just sit with you in silence. You made me tea, you held me tightly and often, you cared for me when I was broken. God only knows where I would be without you. I love you more than I can articulate.

Thanks also to the new friends that I’ve made this year. You know who you are (especially the folks at NCCM). You met me at a very strange and turbulent time in my life. I was never forthright about everything that happened, but I was hardly myself at the beginning of this year. You accepted me anyway. As I slowly returned to my old self, I was still having a lot of trouble with the new realities that I had to face in my life. You soothed that transition and made those realities a whole lot sweeter than they would have been otherwise. You are a truly phenomenal group of people. I love you all, as well.

As for Kristin, the hardest part of going through the grief process is knowing that someday I will let her go. But probably not for a long time. I hope that the second year without her is as blessed as the first. As tragic and traumatic as it was, I found mercy and solace in the arms of my friends. I discovered a wonderful gift in Kristin. I see that same gift in you. For that, I am endlessly thankful.

Kristin—see us through the second year without you. Put in a good word for us all up there. I’ll see you on the other side. Until then, I miss you. I love you. Choir dorks for life.

Molly