Shaken.

Yesterday, I was perusing Facebook before going to bed when all of the sudden, I saw a post from an old friend from middle/high school, encouraging former classmates to pray for a girl (now, a woman) to 'pull through.'

My stomach dropped. I feverishly scrolled down; looked all around Facebook...to see what, exactly, was wrong. What happened? Was this a slight FaceBook exaggeration, or the real deal? Was something really, seriously wrong?

I picked up my (new) cell phone (which I still don't know how to work) and saw several texts, starting from 7 hours earlier in the day, from my best friend from high school. My stomach dropped again.

I read words that we're not supposed to hear in the same sentence as the name of one of our dear childhood friends. Aneurysm. Coma. Brain surgery.

It was 12:30 am by the time I read the texts. I responded with a text. But I loathe texting. And this was too important to trust to Facebook. So I picked up the phone and called Kate. My best friend...the friend I call my 'forever friend'...who I've known since 3rd grade.

She had learned of our friend Jen's aneurysm the day before. She was in Florida at the time and immediately jumped on a plane to Chicago, to be with Jen. I could hear through the phone, how shaken Kate was. My heart ached for Jen and her family. But it hurt for Kate too. Kate and Jen are ... well, I don't know how else to describe them other than to say they're childhood soul mates. They know things about each other no one else knows. They were part of each others' families, growing up. They speak their own language. They totally, completely 'get' each other. Accept each other. Really adore each other. And now, 20 years after graduating high school, they live in the same city. They vacation together. They're sisters, but without the blood relation.

As I listened to this girl I adore, talk about seeing another dear childhood friend -- and her family -- experience the unthinkable...my world spun around me. I'm never at a loss for words. But in that moment, I had few. I'm a fixer and a doer. But moments like that....they're humbling. There is nothing for me to fix, nothing I can do but pray, as our dear friend lay in a hospital bed 8 hours away in another state, with her precious, newborn son in a hospital nearby.

Kate has since shared encouraging updates. Jen is breathing on her own. She knows her name. She and the baby are in stable condition. Seemingly small signs that offer tremendous hope to a strong woman and baby whose bodies have been through so much in the past 48 hours.

As I sit here in my living room, thinkng about Jen and this precious baby, all I can do is think of years gone by.

Like yesterday, I can picture Kate and Jen sitting on the front porch swing of my tiny little house on Melrose Avenue in little ol' Boardman, Ohio. I can see Jen's curly blond permed hair, her pretty, brace-covered smile and big blue eyes. I can see her crazy miniature collie chasing its tail in her living room, every time Elton John's "I Don't Want to Go On With You Like That" came on MTV. I can feel the wind on my face as we all three rode our bikes to Applewood Acres, where all the houses seemed shiny and new...where they had a pool...where it seemed everyone in our world lived, except us.

I can feel the butterflies in my stomach as we experienced the thrill of trying to convince 21 year old 'boys' in Ocean City, Maryland, that we were 19 and 'majoring' in psychology....when we were were really just about to enter 8th grade.

I remember countless sleepovers with Kate and Jen at that tiny house on Melrose Avenue. I remember the immense sense of gratitude I felt...the amazing sense of 'belonging' I felt...as we developed this lifelong friendship, that summer between 7th and 8th grade.

And I remember Jen calling me not so long ago, after years of being out of touch, before FaceBook...to tell me that she had found the love of her life and that she wanted me to be at her wedding. I remember this same flood of memories filling my heart that night, as I sat on the fire escape of my apartment and we talked for hours about childhood memories and high school regrets and all the stuff in between.

I was so touched she had called. I remembered some arguments -- really, really stupid, but really mean-spirited arguments -- we had in high school. And I cried. I told her how sorry I was for being, well, for not being a better friend. For fighting over stupid things. For throwing stones instead of mending fences. For not fighting harder to revive or maintain our once very special childhood friendship.

Jen...truly one of the most open and forgiving people I've ever met...humbly and kindly lauged it off. She just kept saying that she didn't care about, or think about, any of that. That she just remembered all the good times. And that's why she called me. So like Jen. She had chosen to forget the pettiness. She wanted that girl...the girl she had made those childhood memories with...to be at her wedding.

As I watched our once wild-and-crazy Jen marry the love of her life in a beautiful Cinderella-style wedding dress, I just remember feeling gratitude. It was so, so good to see this very loving, very full-of-life girl, find her way. Find herself. Find the love of her life...find someone who adored her so.

I haven't seen Jen since her wedding. Because Facebook doesn't count.

So I keep finding myself having full conversations with her in my mind. I want to drive to her hospital room in Chicago and tell her funny stories from childhood. I want to hug her and tell her that she's come so far...I want to tell her what a great mom I know she'll be. I want to be a gofer for her family. Her mom, her dad, her sister...people who I saw, every day of my life, summer after summer as a child. I just want to be there, to do anything they need. To tell her husband how happy he has clearly made her, to tell him that surely, everything will turn out.

I want to get them food. Coffee. Call their employers and tell them that they won't be back to work until this beautiful girl is back on her feet. I don't know how to cook. But I want to make them homecooked meals. And I want to hug what I'm sure is a gorgeous, tiny baby boy and tell him that he's got a really kind, sweet, loving, hilarious mom that really can't wait to hold him in her arms.

It's strange. How it's possible to have a connection with a friend...a connection that started decades ago...with memories so vivid that they seem like yesterday...even though you haven't looked her in the eyes for more than half a decade. It's strange that it takes something this tragic to make me reflect on memories that are this special...memories of that awkward, magical, exciting, scary, and pivotal, transforming part of our lives.

So. If anyone's out there reading this, please pray for Jen. Pray for a speedy, truly miraculous recovery, for her and for her tiny baby boy. Pray that she gets to hug and love and kiss that baby boy; and that she gets the gift of guiding him through that same awkward, magical part of childhood when I first met Jen. Pray that she gets to see her baby boy find himself, find his way, find the love of his life, 30-some years from now.

And while you're at it...call an old friend to tell him or her how much their childhood friendship meant to you. Offer a random apology to a high school friend or acquaintence for something stupid or mean you did way-back-when...something you've always regretted. And make plans, now, to go to dinner, or to the beach, or anywhere...with that forever friend that you haven't seen in years. Because life changes, and passes us by, before we know it.