Dear Friend,

A year ago, everything was different. We were fresh out of high school with a certain gleam in our eyes, anticipating our bright futures in college. There was so much to look forward to: new classes, new people to meet, a chance to be adults. We had the whole world in front of us. But it turns out, your future wouldn’t be as bright.

Behind the elated summer days of kayaking and frequent trips to the dollar movie theater, lay a somber truth of IV fluids and CT scans. Sure, we goofed around in the hospital by throwing rubber gloves at each other and cracking jokes, but there was a grim heartbreak waiting for you months later that I wish you didn’t have to endure. I wish I could have done something more than be there for you, but I couldn’t. Life doesn’t work that way.

I remember where we were a year ago on that cloudy day in August. We thought it be nice to spend a day at the pool to distract you from what was going on at home because, frankly, things were going downhill. You hopped in the back seat of my car and groaned, probably ticked off about your brother because he causes about 70% of your stress. I’ll never forget what you said. “I just feel like something bad is going to happen today.” But Lily and I forced you to enjoy some fun in the sun with us anyway.

An afternoon of tanning and checking out cute lifeguards went by and we decided to wander around the mall near by. We were in some cute little boutique when my phone rang. I was surprised to see that your mom was calling me, but I answered giggling while you made some joke about Lily’s butt.

“I need you to bring Jessica home.”

By the time I could comprehend those words, you stopped what you were doing and looked at me with worried eyes. A cold realization crept upon us, so we left. The car ride home was the most silent the three of us had ever been. The radio playing or my yelling at the GPS didn’t ease the still air. I looked at you through the rearview mirror. You were somewhere else looking out the window, your mouth pressed in a straight line, tension in your shoulders. Even after I dropped you off at your house, Lily and I stayed silent in the car, dread sitting right between us.

I just got out of the shower when you called me. My throat swelled up as you told me in broken words that your father had less than 48 hours left to live before the cancer took the last bit of fight out of him. And that’s when the world stopped. It seemed unreal to think that a man who was so full of life and smiles could be so close to death in a matter of hours. And time was not there to waste, so I drove back to your house, much faster than I’ve driven in my life, and barged through your front door to find you on the couch with your head between your hands. I muttered a pathetic "hey" before I wrapped my arms around you and held you close.

We’ve been friends since 4th grade, and I had never seen you hurt so much as you did right then. I tried to imagine myself in your place, tried to imagine how I’d feel if it was my dad who lie the next room close to his last moment. The thought was completely unbearable, so I held onto you tighter. More than anything in the world, I wanted you to skip that part of life.

One of the best aspects of our friendship is how family-oriented we are. You invited me into yours and I invited you into mine. I love your mom’s baking (especially that banana bread), I loved your dad’s warm truck that always smelt like Black Ice air freshener, I love your exuberant dogs that always crave my attention, and (way, way deep down) I even love all the yelling that goes on between you and your brother. So after being a part of your family for years, it was a real punch in the face to see you all hurting.

There are many traits of yours that I could list, but that would take forever. And I mean that in a good way. You may come off as a very headstrong and heated person, but behind all the ranting and name-calling lays my favorite trait: your big heart. You have so much room for love when it comes to the people you truly care about, and I know it must have hurt to have that shattered. It shattered you so much that you had to put college off another year to wrap your mind around this awful godforsaken mess.

That night, people came and went, tears rolling down cheeks and muffled goodbyes coming from their lips. But then it was my turn to say goodbye. In the movies, it seems like people have such poetic and idyllic monologues to say at someone’s deathbed, but this was not the case for me. I sat in that warm and dimly lit room without a single clue of what to say to him. His slow, uneven breaths occupied the space, so I focused on his breathing for a while. And I didn’t end up saying anything other than a redundant goodbye before I left the room. All I could think about was the first time I met him. How we were all cruising in the golf cart at the campground, "Red Solo Cup" playing from the radio. It was my first time at the campground, and I could see in his eyes how much love he had for that place as he hummed along to the music. That look in his eyes is the one I remember to this day. And at 1:17am, the worst moment of your life arrived at your doorstep as the fight finally came to an end.

So today, one year later, I want you to know this; even though life has been hell for you without a dad for the past year, you are still the same strong-willed and amazing girl I met in fourth grade. Just because you lost someone important, doesn’t mean that you are worth any less or that this pain will be forever. It will still hurt every once in awhile, but I’ll be right there with some root beer and a DVD copy of Frozen. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to sing "Let It Go" at the top of my lungs for you to enjoy. Take today to remember him, the good days and the bad ones. Think about him jumping that ramp on that tiny bicycle and that incident where he burned off his eyebrow. Think about how crabby he would get when he had to set up the tent for Lily and me to sleep in on the weekends. Most importantly, think about him as you begin your first year of college this fall because I know that he would be extremely proud of you, just like I am. Everyday, you put on a strong front and (somewhat) happy face, but I want you to know that today, you don’t have to. I want you to know that it’s okay to call me when you get the feels. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to laugh. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.

With much love,

Maya