Kristin was my best friend for 12 years, from my early 20s to my mid 30s, and she passed away more than 10 years ago.

Looking back, it seems like such a short period of time (but for anyone who has lost someone, the time is always too short). Every year on the anniversary of her death, I still post on social media about her, and the great gift she left behind for me.

When I first met Kristin, I had just moved to a new city. As I made friends, I remember hitting it off with her at a fall festival and bonding over our shared love of cotton candy. She was six years older than me, but she had such a youthful exuberance and energy it often seemed like she was much younger.

Shocking news

She asked if I was free for lunch one day, where she shocked me by telling me she had cancer. What? She didn’t look or act sick. How was this possible? She explained that in the spring of that year she began throwing up one evening and couldn’t stop.

Her roommate took her to the emergency room where she was diagnosed with a massive inoperable tumor in her abdomen and told to “get her affairs in order.” She told me she learned that was doctor code for “you’re going to die” although she didn’t realize it at the time.

After beginning some moderate chemo, it unfortunately wasn’t having much effect on her cancer. She wasn’t sure how many options she had but she asked me (and many others) to pray with her for healing and that God would be glorified in her life.

Joy despite circumstances

That was the beginning of the first phase of our friendship. Occasionally she would have to get up quickly from a meal because the tumor would make her vomit. She couldn’t drink regular water, it sat too heavy in her stomach and needed carbonated drinks instead. She often couldn’t stand for longer than a few minutes. But despite all these side effects and the unknown future, she maintained a joy in her life that was so inviting. It was no surprise for me to learn that Joy was her middle name.

Hope springs forth

Kristin also taught me a lot about hope. It was one of her favorite words. We both marveled at the street name of the house where we became roommates—Hopespring Drive. It was just a few months after we had moved there when I hugged her good-bye at the airport one morning, not sure if I would ever see her again.

She had found a surgeon who believed he could successfully remove the tumor. Without any other options, she agreed to the surgery, despite the 25% chance that she could bleed to death on the operating table. It was incredibly scary but she was full of hope. I remember the phone call from her mom after the surgery.

“Best possible outcome,” she said. “They got the whole thing.”

A few months later Kristin was back, still recovering from the massive surgery, but cancer-free for the first time since I had met her. I was joyous.

A new season

We entered a new season of fun. We hosted parties at our house, we went on a few vacations together, we talked about boys we liked and both dreamed of getting married—the future was full of possibilities for both of us. It was maybe a year and a half of that before she received some unsettling news.

In one of Kristin’s follow up cancer screenings, they found tiny spots on her liver.

The next season

And so, we entered the final season. Although it lasted years, it was filled with chemo, hospital visits, increasing pain, complications, and finally liver failure, even with a transplant option discussed (but ultimately ruled out) just before she passed.

I was with her for five days in her parents’ home just a few days before she went to be with Jesus. What a holy time. It was only because of faith that I was able to leave her house that final day for my flight home, trusting I would see her again one day in heaven.

Coping with grief

There are a million other things I could say about our friendship, but there’s some additional things I’ve learned about grief that have echoed as much as her own personal impact on my life.

Everyone copes in their own way. If you’ve lost anyone, you know it’s a loss that should not be. There are all kinds of emotions. Your own pain, the hole in your life, survivor’s guilt, the pressure of well-meaning other people, the weight of decisions regarding your loved ones’ services, belongings, and legacy. There are so many heavy and unknown emotions. Navigating it daily is a challenge, even as your grief changes over time.

On the first anniversary of her death, it was additional therapy for me to post on social media about her. I had grieved so much that year. Although I had been married a few years by then, I realized how long Kristin had been my “person.” She planned so many birthday parties for me, so when my own birthday rolled around after her death, there was fresh and unexpected pain. I grieved every way I missed her that year, but I also wrote about what I pictured her doing in heaven, having cotton candy and taking long walks through forests of falling leaves.

Gifts left behind

Now more than 10 years later, I still post about her. I love honoring her legacy because she taught me so much about what’s important in life. The life lessons I experienced first-hand from her have echoed true as I’ve gotten older—don’t take things for granted, enjoy life, have faith, trust God.

She never wanted it said that she lost her battle with cancer—she wanted it said that she finished her adventure and went to be with Jesus. That was the way she lived. Cancer didn’t defeat her, but God used it to draw her closer to Him, as well as those of us privileged to witness her life and faith. My faith became stronger as I journeyed with her, not just cheering her along, but digging in alongside, in the cold hospitals, in the trenches of doubt, in both the prayers that were answered “yes” and the ones that were answered “no.”

Hope: the greatest gift

The reason I post after all these years is to continue to thank God for her friendship. Although she isn’t here to hang out and talk about life (and oh, how I wish she was!), I’m still overwhelmingly grateful for the time we had and the way she pointed me, and others, to Jesus.

She taught me that hope is not only for those suffering from cancer—hope is also for all those whose lives they touch, for those journeying with them and even those left behind. Ultimately, we all have to say good-bye to one another, but hope is the great gift we leave behind.

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Some questions for reflection for those who have lost someone:

• How have you found hope in the wake of your loss?’
• What are some gifts your friend or loved one left behind?
• What are some ways you could celebrate their life each year?

For more help with grief, see:

Understanding Grief and Loss.

The Empty Chair: Missing Loved Ones.

Asking God for Help.