Comfort and Joy

A few weeks ago, I wrote about my sweet friend Cathy. How she was there for me during that long time in between college and when I met Chris -- which was filled with lots of loneliness. And self reflection. And self doubt. But was also filled with a million fun times and the beginnings of several very important friendships.

And I realized that as much as I want to write about how grateful I am for Ella and Kate and Chris and my family and all of life's little, beautiful moments...I also want to write about the women in my life who've taught me so much about the person I want to be.

Two of those women are my dear friends Mara and Deb, who came into my life at the exact same time as Cathy.

I was 22 years old, at my first job. Every day, I was overcome by the feeling that I was literally living some awful, sad, excruciating love song about heartbreak. In retrospect, it's almost funny how dramatic the time was; how little faith I had in myself or the future. But the pain and guilt and sadness and loneliness weren't very funny at the time. They were all-consuming and self-defining.

Alas, it seemed like every single sad love song was somehow speaking directly to me. I was filled with the something akin to grief over a lost loved one; marked by the tenderness and naivity of a middle schooler who's lost their first crush.

Mara and Deb were older, cooler and more experienced than me. Both personally and professionally. They were good at their jobs and had their own lives and really didn't 'have' to take an interest in that hard-working new girl who stayed really late at work, most nights.

But they did take an interest.

They would hear me crying in my little cubicle, well after 5 p.m....not about work...but about lost love. And they would sit right on the floor with me and listen to me lament my broken heart for hours on end. Until snot covered my face and I was nearly hiccuping through sobs, mascara smeared all over my face.

They could have trivialized my pain, or told me something trite...pointed out that there were many other fish in the sea. Or that I had my whole life ahead of me. They could've even been more direct and told me that millions of other people were dealing with far greater tragedies than the loss of a high school sweetheart. They could have rolled their eyes and told me to get it together.

But they didn't do any of that.

Instead, they offered endless support and love and encouragement. The comforted my tears and surprised me with unexpected sweet and funny gestures and emails and cards. Mara gave me one of the most special gifts I've ever been given -- a gratitude journal that encouraged me to write down 5 things I was thankful for every day. I wrote in it religiously during those difficult times, and it helped me stay focused on the beauty of life. Helped me put my brokenness into perspective. I still have that journal on my bedside table, along with the ribbon in which Mara wrapped it.

And Deb, oh...my amazing friend Deb. Even after we lost Mara to California, I was crying on Deb's shoulder for years to come. She and her husband even let me spend the night in their house, on a work night, after one particularly hard and trying day. And when I first learned that my very dear Uncle Danny took his own life, and I was all alone in my apartment, away from all of my family, it was Deb who I called, crying uncontrollably. It was Deb who was there beside me, in my apartment, hugging me, even before I hung up the phone.

And it was Deb who sent me a card, in the depths of my darkest hours of self disappointment, that simply read "When in doubt, listen quietly to yourself. Love, Deb."

Deb and I still live in the same city....and even if we go months without seeing her, I'm immediately filled with feelings of peace and comfort, just by the sight of her. Just by hearing her voice. She defines the words 'comfort' and 'acceptance' for me.

I now look back at that time of my life and wish I could shake that 22 year old girl. Tell her to get some perspective. Get a grip. I wish that girl could see my life today...I wish she could've had more faith that everything really would work out.

But I know there was a purpose to that experience. It brought me Cathy. It brought me Deb. And Mara. And it taught me about the friend and mother and human being I want to be.

I hope I can give that kind of acceptance and support to Ella and Kate...and for the other amazing women in my life. I hope I can be comfort and joy for them, the way these dear friends were, and always have been, a comfort and a joy to me.