She Would Hate This...

Grief, gratitude, and the stuff in between.

I have no idea where this post is going, but here it is.

Deep breath.

I lost my friend last week.

My beautiful, funny, kind, and caring friend. It’s felt like an out-of-body experience—like I’ve been floating above myself, observing my reactions, responding to my colleagues’ reactions, and managing myself according to all of these reactions.

We worked together, first becoming entwined in 2015, fresh out the slammer from teaching and stumbling naively into a whole new corporate world. Shona was my manager. On my first day, she handed me a breakdown of my tasks—in 15-minute segments for each one. We were soulmates.

From that day on, we spoke to each other most days, and certainly most weeks—with the few exceptions of holidays—for ten years. Shona was a super-friendly, appeared-as-an-extrovert type person, but she was, in fact, deeply private.

What’s making this difficult to write is that I worry I am a terrible attention seeker. But writing things down is the only thing that helps me process what has happened. If I don’t start getting these thoughts out, I’ll continue my trajectory of being in near-constant motion until I spin out like the Tasmanian Devil. My house has never looked so clean.

Am I betraying Shona’s trust by writing about her? Should I keep it to myself, for my own diary, and leave it well enough alone from online eyes? Or do I write about this because I want people to know who she was—and to know the incredible impact she had on my life?

I would normally want to write about her personality, her unique interests, her love and care for people, her ability to handle suffering with grace and sheer determination. But she was so private and had so little interest in being defined by her struggles. I want to be respectful and sensitive to her memory.

What Shona taught me in ten years is vast. She helped me to have a more flexible mindset, to be open to learning, and to question things without worrying so much. She helped me become a more confident person when I had changed career and my self-esteem was shattered from making what felt like such a huge leap. She did it with humour and gentleness—occasionally with a forceful nudge when I needed it.

Since last week, I have found myself wanting to speak to her every single day. To debrief the whole situation, to check in with each other, and to make a plan of what to do next. That’s what we did. And now that longing has nowhere to go. I replay the last conversation we had, which was all too short. How could I have let her go off the phone that day so quickly? How could I have said goodbye so casually? These thoughts swirl around amid the chaos of my mind.

I listened to a podcast a few years ago. A quote struck me and has stayed with me ever since—it was advice from Vanessa Kirby chatting to Dolly Alderton to “put more friendship into your romance, and more romance into your friendships.”

I know that quote might sound like a bit… much. But also, I think it’s solid advice. What is friendship without the thoughtfulness? The “I’m thinking of you” messages, cards, links, memes, or GIFs? The memories, stories, and in-jokes? The little things that seem like nothing at the time, but are everything when it’s all taken away. The shared empathy during rough times, and the joy when celebrating wins.

What I do know is that the grief I feel is a direct result of how much I loved my dear friend. I was beyond privileged to know her and to have her in my life for ten years. Shona helped shape me into a better person, and I will face my own challenges in the same way I saw her demonstrate for as long as I knew her—with grace, strength, and a hefty dose of humour.

“If we have a friend, or small group of friends, or family who embraces our imperfections, vulnerabilities, and power, and fills us with a sense of belonging, we are incredibly lucky.”

- Brene Brown

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With love,

Amy x