Kathy Sebright

Writer. Speaker. Believer. Runner. Truth Enthusiast.

Category Archives: Friends that are family


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Out of the darkness – 100 miles for Emmett

Facebook-20150707-033950On June 20th, almost 3 weeks ago, I ran 100 miles for “Emmett’s Endurance Event.” And then I went on vacation and then it was the Fourth of July and then I realized I never wrote about it. And as we all know, inside the mind of a writer (if I can be so bold as to call myself that these days) it’s almost as if it didn’t happen if I don’t recreate it with words. So if you are so inclined to read about my latest running adventure, for my son Emmett, and the deep dark ugly parts and the parts where I beamed with pride, read on.

I woke up on Friday, June 19th at 5:15. I didn’t have to be up until 6am, but I couldn’t sleep. I drug myself out of bed and started my pre run routine. When I got to the pile of clothes that I would start out this run with, I was transported. I stared at the white shirt with pink letters with a kind of disgusted fascination. I had bought it special for that day 3 years ago. And 3 years ago, when I stared at this same exact shirt that proudly proclaimed me as unstoppable, I felt like a fraud. I didn’t feel unstoppable, I felt afraid and nauseous and like running away. But that was then and this is now. As I put the shirt on, I knew I had grown into it. I truly believed what it said. And I say that not with arrogance or conceitedness or to pat myself on the back, but to remind myself. I am unstoppable. I have seen worse. I can do this. I can survive anything. I cannot be stopped. I will keep going. Somehow. Someway. I will. And with that in mind, I finished getting ready and took off running full of determination.

When attempting to run 100 miles, time ceases to exist. It’s just me and my legs fighting against my mind. As far as running goes, the first 10 hours were pretty uneventful. Friends came to keep me company and decorated my home base camp with all kinds of signs. I wandered around in the huge campground for a few hours, before deciding on a 5 mile route so as to never be too far away from my people and so I could be easily found.

Facebook-20150707-031330I ran and I ran and I ran. It got hot and I ran. Things hurt and I ran. I got really tired and I ran. I got cranky and I ran. I got discouraged and I ran. I got blisters and I ran. I wanted to stop running and I ran. I just kept going. That’s how you run 100 miles. There is no secret. You just keep going. You shut off everything else and just keep going. If my previous races had taught me anything, it was that once I started crying, I wouldn’t be able to stop. The dam would break and I would never be far from dissolving into hysterics at a moment’s notice. So I worked hard to keep myself together, to not lose it. I focused on my mind, shutting down all the cant’s and negative thoughts threatening to spill over. I held it together, willed the emotions back in until I was ready for them. I told myself things I wasn’t sure I really believed, but forced myself to adhere to them.

I hit 50 miles in a bit over 12 hours. More friends showed up and ran with me and they occupied my mind, kept the impending doom from setting in, and gave me a welcomed and happy distraction.  Round and round the 5 mile loop different people went with FB_IMG_1434829797093me. A group of friends sat around a campfire all night long, taking shifts running with me. I was never alone. These are my people. They don’t need to say it because they are there. They show it.

Highlights of the night include hysterical laughter with friends, high fives from groups of kids on golf carts, being scared of a bug zapper, and blinding everyone around me with my super-powered headlamp. Somewhere around 3 am, it took a turn for the worse. I was sitting on a fence, 80 miles under my belt, feeling sick to my stomach and fighting back the tears with every fiber of my being. Tony was standing next to me, urging me onwards and upwards. Facebook-20150707-031309But under the cloak of night, my resolve wavered and I couldn’t help but cry. It was too long. It was too far. I was too tired. It was too dark. It was going to be dark forever. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I couldn’t do it anymore. I don’t remember what exactly my husband said, nor does he as we were both sleep deprived, but it was tough love. A get up and get your butt going right now because you don’t get to stop here, kind of sentiment. Whatever it was, it pushed me to stand back up on feet that felt like they were on fire. The pain blocked out everything else. All I could feel in each step was how much it hurt. Nothing else registered, just the burning pain in my feet. A very long and very dark night ensued. A darkness so encompassing, I didn’t think I would ever see the light again. I was convinced this was it. When dawn finally broke, I felt hope. The sun rose again and it with it came my spirit. I could breathe easier in the daylight. I was not doomed to run in the darkness for the rest of my life. I had run out of the darkness, both literally and figuratively.

IMAG0010 (4)Now that it was actually June 20th, the day of Emmett’s first surgery, I allowed my mind to go back. I saw myself on that treadmill, tears streaming down my face silently, my teeth gritted in sheer effort, and a crushing despair that filled me as I waited for that blasted hospital pager to ring. Waited to hear that my baby boy had lived. Waited to hear that I could stop running. Waited to hear that everything was going to be ok. I waited and I ran, a terrified mother trying to convince herself how brave she was. I could still feel it as I ran 3 years later. Sometimes I am still that mother, trying to convince myself I am actually brave when I feel anything but. But still, as my home base came into sight, 100 miles within my grasp, I felt the brave rise up. I did not cry. I smiled and sighed with intense relief as I crossed my finish line holding Emmett’s hand. I was victorious. I really felt unstoppable. In previous races, I felt like I had merely survived 100 miles. It was a brutal assault to my body and senses. This time, I felt like I did more than just survive, I thrived. I remembered the reason I was doing this. I used it to power through what I thought I couldn’t. I finished and I smiled.  After running for 27 hours and 38 minutes, I really did run out of that darkness. Facebook-20150707-031351

We told a handful of people about Craniosynostosis in person. I told even more online. I ran to honor Emmett’s journey. And I did. I ran to remind myself I can. And I did. I ran to make a difference. And maybe I did or maybe I didn’t. But what I do know is that I have done something and that is better than nothing. And you all have made a difference to me. Every text, call, comment, and email. Everyone that shared about Emmett, helped me tell the world what Craniosynostosis is and why it matters. Everyone that has stood by me or stepped in when I needed it the most. Everyone that has cheered me on from near or far.  You are my people. You don’t need to say it. You show it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you. Facebook-20150707-031254


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Colored in pink and full of broken hearts

Mother’s Day – colored in pink and full of glittered hearts. A day to honor your mother, yourself as a mother, or those other important women in your life. Kids eagerly holding out handfuls of dandelions and handmade cards. Your mother on the phone telling you how proud she is of you while you both laugh over a shared memory. A loving husband that makes you breakfast in bed and lets you sleep in.

But what about the other women?

The woman that has buried her only child, with not much more to show than a grave to shed tears over, afraid that the world will forget what she never will.

The woman struggling with terrible depression, forcing herself out of bed day after day for her kids and plastering on a fake smile.

The woman whose spouse has died, whose children are in deep in the trenches of grief alongside of her.

The newly divorced woman, scared and alone, hoping and praying she’s done what is best for her and her children.

The woman whose child is hospitalized, sick or dying, who is in such raw pain it hurts to breathe at times.

The woman who comes from an abusive home, who hasn’t spoken to her mother in years, who won’t be sending a card or calling home.

The woman that would give anything to be a mother, that has tried and tried and is afraid there is something wrong with her.

The woman that has just experienced a miscarriage, feeling betrayed by her body with hormones running rampant.

The woman who is suffering in her marriage lonely and heartbroken, who lies to the world while she feels like she is fading into nothingness.

The woman whose mother is no longer on this earth, her very best friend in the world and the one she would give anything to talk to for just a moment.

The woman whose child has died, who will forever be deeply missing part of herself and part of her family.

The woman whose mother neglected, hurt, and abandoned her in a thousand different ways, who is now secretly afraid she’s broken and unlovable.

The woman that is all alone, whose children are estranged from her.

The woman that is sick, fighting for her life, afraid of what will happen to her kids if she doesn’t make it.

The woman battling addiction, dealing with ongoing abuse, constantly fighting with her children, and more.

Mother’s Day – colored in pink and full of broken hearts. It’s not as joyful and carefree as we’d like to believe. It’s not at all what it’s made out to be in those heartwarming ads. There are so many women that don’t feel like they fit into the mold for this day. There are so many women that are hurting on this day and subsequently by this day.

So I want to ask you, or implore you, to reach out to one of these women. These mothers with the broken hearts. We all know at least one. They are you. They are me. They are our neighbors, friends, family, and acquaintances. They are hurting. They are scared. They feel alone. They don’t know how they are going to make it through another day. They are doubting themselves. They are fighting their way through this day and through this life.  Einstein-Quotes-5-610x610

What can you do? You don’t need eloquent words or long, thought provoking speeches. You don’t need anything more than a sincere acknowledgment and recognition of how hard a day like this may be for them. A reminder that even when they feel alone, they are not alone. Just a few words of encouragement to keep going. A way to show them they are not forgotten. A simple act of love. That is how you honor these hurting mothers.


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The brutal amazement that is 100 miles

2015-02-20 13.57.54-4If I had to find just one sentence to describe the process of running for nearly 24 hours, it would be this: the sum of all things. It was all of my emotions, fears, and failures. It was all of my progress, triumphs, and the whole of my life. There was that ugly voice in the back of my mind so sure I would fail and should just quit and be done with it. That voice told me over and over, that there was no way I would ever be able to do this because it’s just too fast for way too long. There was a quieter but more powerful voice too. A voice that was so sure I could do this, that I could do absolutely anything if I really wanted it badly enough. That voice reminded me over and over that I’m a fighter, not a quitter because I’ve already done more in my life than I ever felt capable of.

Round and round the 200M track I went. That’s 8 laps to a mile. Which means 800 laps total to hit 100 miles. Every 1 minute and 30 seconds, I passed my temporary home: my husband, my lawn chair, and my storage tote of running gear. And it got harder and harder to pass up all the comforts of home just waiting for me each and every time. There were a few times, I cried as I passed my lawn chair it was so devastating.

2015-02-21 08.16.09-6What saved me was “my people.” One person I can always count on no matter what, is my husband Tony. Propped up in a corner, tallying up my laps one after another, running with me here and there, and waiting on me hand and foot: he is the ultimate crew person. But even so, there were a few hours when I was really floundering alone. I slowed down, I struggled, I got discouraged, and I started to sink on my own in the middle of the night. But then God sent help, in the form of my friends and family. A group of friends showed up Friday night when I was already starting to hit a rough patch. A group of non-running friends that is. And they proceeded to not only run but run FAST with me. A few hours after they left, someone else showed up. They came at 1am to get me through the long, dark hours of the night. A group came at 5am decked out in feather boas, princess crowns, and sunglasses carrying inspirational signs. A couple of awesome coach friends showed up and gave me a massage, and helped me fix my terrible running form that I had descended into. A complete and utter Godsend came sometime early Saturday morning. She made it her personal mission to see me to the finish. Made me eat when I felt too sick to eat, filled up my water bottle probably 50 times, fixed my shoes over and over, stood outside the bathroom stall waiting for me like a loving mother would with her child, just in case, watched me like a hawk commanding “eyes open” every time they threatened to close, and kept an eye on our pace, always pushing me to make sure I really was going to make it. When Saturday morning rolled around, my cheering section tripled. The same friends that had shown up late the night before, the same ones that must be exhausted and tired and sore, there they were again.

The final hour took every last bit of will power I had. All I knew is I was “close” to 100 miles but I didn’t know how close. Shortly after hitting 50 miles, I decided I didn’t want to know anymore. It was tormenting me to know how much farther I had to go, so everyone started keeping it a secret.2015-02-22 14.39.53 I was really struggling near the end when I saw some women on the track walking towards me. I couldn’t understand why until they got closer, and I saw 4 of my friends in matching Team Kathy shirts. The back proudly proclaimed it was a division of Team Emmett. Hysterical sobbing ensued as they hugged me until I was making that loud, embarrassing noise from trying to breathe. There were so many times I had felt alone in my life before. So many times where it seemed like I had no one. And this was just the opposite of that, times 100. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt more loved. I was sure my heart was going to burst. It was simply amazing. It was complete when my mother and father in law showed up with our boys and all I could manage was to smile at them through my heavy tears. 2015-02-22 14.40.10

Finally, after being told how close I was and getting angry, whiny, desperate, hysterical, crying, and stopping in defeat for a few seconds, my husband Tony told me I was on my last lap. A friend was singing “our song.” I was surrounded on all sides by even more friends that escorted me one last time around that track. They were cheering, yelling, and clapping. Emmett ran just ahead of me as I rounded the very last corner and threw my head back in instant relief at being able to stop running. And I did it. 100 miles in 23 hours and 50 minutes. Under 24 hours, with only a few minutes to spare.

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When I think back to the Hallucination 100 I did last year and how much I cried, I think I may have cried almost as much this time. But this time most of those tears were of gratitude, appreciation, amazement, and pure love. There were some desperate tears in there too, but they were few and far in between comparatively. All of these wonderful people that showed up to support me– they are the ones that pushed me to run faster. They are the ones that kept me going even when I was feeling miserable and wanted to stop. Their mere presence made me both laugh and cry and renewed my fragile spirit. I owe the bulk of my miles to them, and them alone.

I just LOVE this message (and everything else out there) from Fellow Flowers. It’s something I have been privileged enough to live out.

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Nothing worth doing is easy

Originally posted at http://53riverbankrun.com/blog/roadwarriors/2014/08/06/nothing-worth-doing-is-easy/

Last Saturday, I woke up at 4 am because today was the day. Today I was really going to run 50 miles.

As I got dressed, I felt a glimpse of what Clark Kent must feel when he changes into Superman. Here I am: just a regular person, a mom of 2 kids, married for 10 years, working a normal job, and doing normal things like losing my car keys and quick washing the dishes in the sink before I have to leave. But once I put on my running gear and lace up my shoes, everything changes. I am not a normal person anymore. I am stronger, faster, braver, and more capable than I was before. I am someone different: an adventurer, a fighter, and someone willing to test their limits.

Adele, a former Road Warrior from years past, joined me at 5:30 am and we set out to run 50 long, long miles. I had a pit in my stomach, the nervous and excited energy that you get before you do something really big or something you are not so sure of. There was no turning back now. I hit the start button on my Garmin and we ventured into the dark with only our headlamps to show us the way. 50 miles

The first 30 miles I must say, flew by. We talked, we laughed, we joked around, we took pictures, we told stories, and we bonded in a way that only fellow runner friends can. There is something different about running alongside someone early in the morning for hours on end, it’s something realer and truer than anything else you can do. There is no need to impress anyone, there is no way to skirt who you are at the core because it just comes out whether you want it to or not, your guard comes down, and your secrets feel safe between the two of you and the ever growing road beneath your feet. And for the first 30 miles, we stuck side by side, drinking in our long run, enjoying each other’s company, and unburdening our past, present, and future. It was nothing short of amazing.

When we stopped for food around the 30 mile mark and I realized how much longer we had to go still, something became unhinged in my mind. I started laughing hysterically – crazy, maniacal laughter that I couldn’t quiet. I was laughing so hard I was crying while my running partner Adele, and my husband/crew chief, looked at me like I might be losing my grip. No one else was laughing but me, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make myself stop. It was exhaustion, desperation, and anxiety coming out. Things took a turn for the ugly very quick in the 30’s.

100 signThe miles ticked by slower than anything I had ever seen in my life, we were running indefinitely and hysteria threatened to overtake my fragile mind. Everything hurt, the sun was blazing down on us with no end in sight, and we were only now just over half way there. Both Adele and I were struggling. One of us would feel better while the other felt worse, then the roles would reverse. The fun run was officially over, now it was more like a death march to the end. There’s not much I can say about those miles except they were extremely hard. The range of emotions that rises up in you when you’ve been running for 8+ hours is staggering and uncontrollable. Tears for no reason, anger for no reason, and complete and utter exhaustion for good reason, When running is no longer fun, you have to remind yourself why you are doing it and what you want out of this. It was hard to remember during some of the dark miles. And then it was like running through a fog that suddenly lifts, because around mile 41, I found a second wind. I ran with renewed passion, finishing the last 9 miles faster than the first 9 miles. Watching Adele fight for it was awe inspiring too. It didn’t matter what was happening, she was still moving forward, always moving towards her goal. We both finished hours over our projected goal time of 12 hours, but still, I consider it a wild success because we both finished. keep running sign

In running, in life, and in nearly everything, we have a choice. Keep moving or quit.  It’s as simple as that. So when you want to quit, remember why you are doing this, remind yourself what you want out of this, and fight for it if it’s worth it to you.


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Cloudy skies ahead

Originally posted at http://53riverbankrun.com/blog/roadwarriors/2014/07/16/cloudy-skies-ahead/

black-cloud-hiWe’ve all been there before. It’s the run that takes away nearly all of your hard earned confidence in a matter of minutes. It’s the run that makes you feel like the slowest, sluggish, most out of shape person that has ever attempted to run. In a single word – it’s excruciating. The first question that comes to mind is what’s going on. A runner’s brain tends to be logical, methodical, and usually operates within a definite have a problem, find a solution mentality. But sometimes, into the most logical part of that brain sneaks the black could. The black cloud is powerful; it can overtake even the most self-assured runner if the conditions are just right. It seeks out fear and doubt and amplifies it in your mind. The black cloud makes you feel like a failure before you’re even done trying and before you’ve even had the chance to fail. The black cloud is not above shaming you for every decision you’ve ever made and for every failure (legitimate or not) that you’ve ever tried to bury and forget about. Yes, the black cloud sees it all and uses it all to hand out its harsh judgments without mercy.

Welcome to the deep, dark recesses of my mind just last week. It was Saturday morning and 24 miles were on the schedule. I am training for my very first 100 mile ultra marathon in September. I am not a stranger to the ultra marathon but this 100 mile race will be by far, the longest I’ve ever attempted. Anyhow, back to Saturday morning: less than 2 miles into my 24 mile run and it became clear that this was going to be one of those excruciating runs. The black cloud pushed its poison into my mind immediately and didn’t let up for the next 22 miles. The black cloud wiped out every accomplishment I’ve ever had. The black cloud brought shame and guilt with it and told me if I lost these last 20 pounds, it’d be much easier to run. The black cloud went for the jugular, taunting me for being selfish and for spending so much time on running when I could be at home with my kids and judging me for spending so much money on running shoes when I could be setting it aside for my son’s medical expenses. The black cloud was sure I would never, ever, in a thousand years, be able to finish 100 miles. I mean, I was struggling terribly just to survive these 24 miles and I wasn’t even a quarter of the way there. When my resolve was weakened and I was truly wondering if I’ve gotten in over my head, the black cloud mocked me “Let’s just leave these kinds of feats to the real athletes, shall we?”

I put on my angry face, gritted my teeth, and obsessively watched my Garmin move slower than I thought was even possible. At one point, I took it off and jostled it around a bit, sure that it was broken. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily for me, it wasn’t broken; I was just going that slowly. I scolded myself, I threw myself a big pity party, I got good and mad about not being able to do what I wanted to do, and yet I didn’t give up. I dug deep, I held on, and I pushed through it. As my driveway came into view, I was overcome with emotion. I started to cry from sheer relief at being done and also to be rid of that hateful black cloud. Once I was done running and thinking clearly again, I realized with some embarrassment that the hateful black cloud is me. There is no escaping her. Secretly (or not so secretly anymore), I’m afraid that I can’t do it. I’m afraid that I’m not good enough, not fast enough, not thin enough, and not disciplined enough. And I won’t ever be able to stop that voice in my head until I can give myself some credit for the past and believe that I really can do whatever I set my mind to. A friend gave me a wonderful magnet from Fellow Flowers that says “And when she realized she was brave enough, everything changed.” It’s a great reminder about the power of our own voice. FF

Running has a way of bringing out the very essence of life in each mile like that. There’s no escape from who you are and what lies beneath the surface. So this is what I want you to do if the black cloud comes for you. Just for right now, just for this run, and just for today, shut down that black cloud. Be proud of yourself even if you are not where you want to be. Be proud of what you can do even if you aspire to do more one day. Remember where you have come from, what you have survived, and what you have done in order to get here. Believe that you have done the best that you could given the circumstances, know that you have made mistakes but learned much from them, and realize you are always progressing towards something better. We choose what the voice in our head has to say to us – make it something worth listening to.

 

 


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The key to courage

I stood in the large open room in church surrounded by women that were once strangers but now friends. I had stopped in real quick just to drop off some food for a friend that couldn’t make it to the MOPS (mothers of preschoolers) meeting. My husband was in the parking lot, waiting for me.

I was exhausted, anxious, afraid, and filled with both dread and excitement. I could practically feel it rolling off of me in waves. What on earth was I doing? I didn’t know. It’s no secret that I live and breathe running. I’ve been a long distance runner for years and I had trained diligently for the last 6 months for this very day. But why? Why attempt to run 100 miles? Maybe I was searching for something. Maybe I was trying to find myself in those miles. Maybe I was trying to get back a feeling I had lost long ago. Maybe it was none of that. Maybe I was just running away. Maybe I couldn’t face it. Maybe I was so afraid of what I couldn’t control, I had to do something just to prove to myself I was still in control. Maybe I just wanted to feel like me again.IMAG0924_BURST012

Just 2 weeks prior to that day, we had scheduled another skull surgery for our 3 year old son Emmett. Heartsick didn’t even begin to cover it. I was torn between breathing a sigh of relief that we could get this over with now and help him and wanting to pack up everything we own and run away with my son to keep him from any more pain and suffering. I looked at my little boy who didn’t understand what was in store for him and it was a dagger to the heart. It filled me with the kind of fearful, anxious pain that makes you abruptly start crying in the middle of everyday mundane tasks without warning.

Here was that task, dropping off food to a group of friends, on my way to try my hand at running 100 miles for the first time ever. I almost wasn’t standing there. I almost decided it was too selfish of me to go ahead and run this race with another impending surgery. But after a lot of careful thought, I decided I had to. For Emmett. For myself. And for everyone that’s ever wanted to give up. I wanted to be the person that didn’t go down without a fight. But I wasn’t sure I could do it. I didn’t know how I was going to run 100 miles. I didn’t know how I was going to hand over my heart and soul to a group of surgeons again. I didn’t know if I was ever going to stop being afraid for him or if I was ever going to be brave enough.

That’s when the MOPS leader, who is a dear friend of mine, began talking. She was reading a devotional about bravery and courage when she stopped to pull out a small, fancy envelope. She handed me the envelope and inside was a key with the word courage on it. I started to cry as I looked around at the faces of these loving, supportive women. They thought I was courageous even when I felt absolutely terrified.  They believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. They were rooting for me even in the middle of my own second thoughts. Tears of gratitude continued to stream down my face as they prayed for me before I had to leave.                                                 

I stashed that courage key in my running pack and it traveled with me for all 29 hours and 44 minutes as I completed 100 miles. There were some very dark moments during that race, just as there had been in our life, but I knew I wasn’t alone out there. 3 weeks after race day, I put that courage key in my pocket the morning of Emmett’s surgery, while I ran and walked obsessively outside of the hospital waiting for him to be out safe and sound, until I was holding his hand once again. As I curled up in the hospital bed next to my son amidst a mass of wires and tubes, I knew I had it. I could feel it. One of the greatest gifts I had ever been given was not just a key, but someone that believed in me, someone that believed I could do it, no matter what “it’ was. And whether it was on a running trail at 3 am or in the ICU of a children’s hospital, their belief in me sustained me until I could believe in myself too.


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The things we gain by losing

I stood in the entryway of the restaurant. I was late. The 3 of them were already sitting down somewhere. Together. It felt silly to be so nervous but yet I was. My heart pounded as I considered slipping back out the door and just calling them to tell them I was too sick to join them.

I was never really good at friends. For so many years, I had been a keep to myself, closed off, scoff at feelings kind of anti-girl. The last friends I had were the women that broke my heart into a thousand pieces. Mostly I was angry at myself, for giving them the power to hurt me this way. I had let my guard down, loved them, cared for them, and this is what happened. I didn’t realize back then it was the catalyst for my behavior that followed. I stopped trusting the women around me and started backing farther and farther away from everyone else. I didn’t ever want to feel like that again and soon I decided I was better off without any friends. And so I became an island. Unreachable and alone. IMAG0705_BURST012

8 years later, there I was, on the verge of either walking in or running out of that restaurant. That’s when the hostess asked if she could help me. “I’m meeting some people” I said unsure if I actually was. “Oh, are you Kathy?” she asked. I nodded my head silently. “Your friends are expecting you. I’ll show you where they are.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized the small but significant gesture. They were expecting me. Waiting for me. Even told someone to watch for me. Already, I was more than just an outsider to these women I didn’t know very well.

DSCF2756They showed me what mutual friendship really was. They became amazing friends with such love, respect, and empathy for those around them that the deep, tall, and wide walls I had built up slowly began to come down. The gratitude I have for these women defies words. They have seen me at the very worst I had to offer, when I was in so much pain I couldn’t even bring myself to admit it. And still they were there, in the ICU, on the other end of a phone, running alongside of me early in the morning, at my door with food, and always, always, always laughing and crying along with me. They stood by our family through some of the most difficult years we had ever seen and made me laugh when I thought it was impossible. When they each moved away at different times for different reasons, we cried until we laughed. But distance could not affect these friendships. They were stronger than that.

A few years after they all had moved away, I was brave enough to make more friends on my own.  They were the spark that made me notice what my life was missing: close girlfriends. Again, I was lucky enough to find such loving, caring, compassionate women that immediately accepted me. As the rough years raged on, they jumped head first into the chaos that is our life without a second thought. And there they were. In the waiting room of a hospital, at my door with more and more food, clutching my hand tightly, making room for me in their lives, and always, always, always laughing and crying along with me. One day, it was just like they’d been there all along.IMAG1855

I don’t know that I’d ever had as much to give as I’ve been given. I don’t know that I’ve ever deserved the amazing people that have surrounded me. And I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to “pay them back” for all they’ve done. It’s too much. They’ve helped save me from myself and they’ve held me up when I was falling into the darkness. But today, I can say my group of friends, both near and far, are some of the most thoughtful, giving, and beautiful people I’ve ever met in my entire life. So what exactly was gained? Everything. Absolutely everything.

~ When you are drowning, a true friend will not just throw you a lifeline but rather jump in headfirst and swim the raging waters with you. And you will be rescued together. ~