Last Sunday marked two years since my dear friend Karen passed away.
Her sister had arranged for a Mass to be said in her memory and told me about it months ago. I put it on my calendar, knowing I would be there.
But just a few days before, it occurred to me that our group of friends should be there together to honor Karen and support her sister and husband. On Wednesday, I sent an email inviting everyone to Mass and back to our house afterward for lunch.
One by one, the replies came in. Friends were changing plans and rearranging their schedules so they could be there.
What began as a sad anniversary became a beautiful reminder of how much we mean to one another.
Most of us have known each other for more than 45 years. Many of us became friends in high school; some friendships go back to elementary school. Some of us married friends within the group. My sister, brother-in-law, and mom are part of it, too. Explaining how we all fit together can get a little complicated. We are friends, family, and friends who have become family.
Over the years, we have celebrated marriages and welcomed children. We have supported one another through divorce, injuries, and illnesses, and grieved the deaths of friends and parents. We have vacationed together and laughed over inside jokes that probably wouldn’t make sense to anyone else.
We have seen one another through so many versions of ourselves.
There is something deeply comforting about friendships with that much history. These are people who knew you before you had much figured out. They remember your younger self (and a few stories you might wish everyone would forget).
And they keep loving you as you grow and change.
With these friends, I can be myself. I don’t have to find the right words or pretend everything is going well. Sometimes we talk about what’s hard. Other times, we laugh until we cry. No one needs to put on a show.
On Sunday, I felt grateful for that.
We missed Karen, but we know she was there. We spent the afternoon with people who love her, sharing the history she will always be part of.
I keep thinking about those email replies. Each person looking at a calendar, moving something around, deciding to come. Such ordinary things, yet together they meant so much.
It reminded me how much care lives in the simple act of showing up. How much it means to know that you matter to someone, and to let them know they matter to you.
That Sunday, I know Karen’s sister and husband felt that. Their grief still matters. Karen still matters. And after all these years, we still matter to one another.
I’m so glad I sent that message. And I’m grateful, one by one, that my friends said yes.
Less than a week after gathering to remember Karen, we came together again last night to celebrate a marriage in the next generation. Once again, we laughed and cried. We watched the next generation begin a new chapter, surrounded by friends who have shared so many chapters of their own.
I felt the depth of our shared history in a different way. There we were, celebrating the kind of beginning many of us had shared years ago, with all that life has taught us since. And I missed Karen, knowing how much she would have loved being part of it.
Two gatherings, less than a week apart. Both reminded me how grateful I am that we keep showing up for one another, with room for the sadness, the joy, and everything we carry between the two.
