Too Much to Hold

I’ve been quiet in this space. The short story is: life has been hard. Here’s the longer version…

I’ve never been good at making friends. Making friends as an adult has been even harder. It took me many years to find my people as an adult, and many more years before I felt truly comfortable even with them. For whatever reason, I kept expecting my friends to get bored with me and move on to more exciting friends. When I was dealing with depression, I was convinced I would have no friends left because I wasn’t always a delight to be around (quite the opposite, in fact). And yet, when the fog of depression lifted, there my friends were, and our relationships were stronger than ever because they had been tested and proven true. I learned that my friends aren’t only my friends because they get something from me; they are my friends because they love me.

When I first met Bethany at book club a little over 3 years ago, I knew right away that we would be friends. I was instantly draw to her kindness, her smile, and her eloquent way of speaking. I wasn’t necessarily looking for friends at that point; it was only a few short months before that I had been in the psychiatric hospital for the fourth time, and it didn’t seem like the best time to welcome new people into my life (“Hello, new friend. Would you like to hear about all of the medications I have been on and how many hours I have spent in therapy and how I am scared every day that I will wake up feeling depressed?”). So even though she and her family were new in town, and I knew how hard it was to make friends, I hesitated for several months. We saw each other at book club, and then she began visiting my church with her family, and all of our interactions were pleasant, but I was still walking with a metaphorical limp and didn’t know how to step confidently into a new relationship.

It was only the following February after our church’s women’s retreat that I finally got up the courage to text her and ask her to meet up for coffee (why does making a new friend feel so much like dating in the early stages?). She responded eagerly, and we met up at Starbucks. I still remember my nervous excitement and how our conversation flowed easily, quickly moving from the superficial to the serious. It seemed we had barely gotten started when the barista informed us that they were closing in five minutes. We took our conversation outside to the parking lot, and had it not been cold, I think we would have stayed there much longer. I drove home with a smile on my face, feeling excited about this wonderful new person who had entered my life and who actually wanted to spend time with me.

It wasn’t long before we met up again, this time at Perkins, which stayed open later and allowed more time for our marathon-length conversations (before Bethany, I think I ate at Perkins a handful of times in my whole life, but what’s not to like about pie and coffee and a 10:00 PM closing time on a weeknight?). I will never forget sitting at the table with Bethany when I took a deep breath and decided to tell her what my life had been like for the past three years. I don’t know why I felt so compelled to tell her, but it was important to me for her to understand where I had been so she could know me more fully. Her eyes were filled with compassion as she listened, and she received my story with such tenderness and care. Then she shared with me her own story of recent heartache and suffering, and even though we were in a Perkins with empty coffee cups and worn seats, the moment felt holy. Bethany saw me in my pain, and she received it with gentle hands and a heart that opened up to mine.

Bethany and me at our church’s women’s retreat.

Roughly a year after that first night at Perkins, Bethany and I had plans to meet there yet again. Our friendship had gone very deep, very fast. I had other deep friendships, but for whatever reason, this one developed so much more quickly than others. Maybe it was because I was older. Maybe it was because I had become more comfortable with who I was. Maybe it was just because Bethany and I were kindred spirits, and we both knew it. But that day, March 2, 2023, Bethany texted and said she wouldn’t be able to meet me and asked me to call her. When I did, she told me all that had unfolded during the night: horrible pain in her abdomen that would not stop, a trip to the emergency room, a whirlwind of tests and doctors. That night she was transferred to a hospital in Memphis for emergency surgery, and the next morning I heard the news: it was cancer. March 3, 2023 was the day everything changed for Bethany and her family.

Another friend and I drove to Memphis that night to see her. I was so scared, not knowing what to expect or how she would feel, but I needed to see her, to let her know that she was not alone. My friend and I both hugged her gingerly, and though she was sick, she welcomed us, and we stayed and visited for longer than we probably should have. She was brave and strong, and I tried to be as well, but the minute we left her room, I let the tears fall. I knew nothing would be the same after this, and I didn’t know how to walk with a friend through this kind of suffering. I begged the Lord to help me and to help Bethany.

That day was followed by many more days of desperate prayers and tears. Bethany started treatment and saw improvements and then setbacks, side effects and then relief. She spent hours with doctors, hours getting scans and tests and medicines. Through it all, she was still Bethany: gracious, loving, caring, and committed to Jesus. She had dark days, to be sure, but she kept believing and kept hoping. And she was funny. She was not afraid to laugh at herself or at the various odd situations she found herself in while dealing with cancer (and dealing with people who don’t always know what to say to someone with cancer).

One day I found a shirt in Old Navy that said “Brighter Days Ahead.” I had been struggling and feeling as though I were heading toward dark days again, and so I bought the shirt as a reminder to myself. I wore it when I saw Bethany one time, and she immediately said how much she liked it, so of course I bought her one too. If anyone needed to hope for brighter days, it was her. I hoped and prayed that her brighter days would come on earth. Even though her prognosis was not great, we all wanted to believe there would be more time—more time with her family, more time with her friends, more time to check things off her bucket list.

There is more to this story (so much more), but a lot of it is not mine to share. What I can tell you is that when I got a text to come to the hospital on Tuesday, July 30, I knew there was not much time left. I am so thankful that I got to hold Bethany’s hand and speak to her one last time and tell her how much I loved her. I am so thankful God allowed our paths to cross three years ago, and I am so thankful to have known Bethany, if only for a little while. I am so thankful for the way God’s love shone through Bethany. She was a magnet, drawing people to her effortlessly, and I know it was because she loved Jesus and knew He loved her.

But even with all that I am thankful for, there is much I am sad about too. I don’t know how to live without one of my best friends. I don’t know how the world keeps going on like nothing is different. I don’t know why I can go from laughing one minute to crying the next. I don’t know why some days seem so cruelly dark and lonely and others don’t. I don’t know why God didn’t heal my friend. I don’t know what to do with my anger at God except to tell Him about it. I don’t know how to put all my feelings into words. I find myself praying, “God, I don’t know how to bear this.” Then He tells me, through His Word and through His children, “Dear child, you don’t have to bear it. Give it to me.” He may have to pry open my hands, fingers clasped in sorrow and anger, but slowly, ever so slowly, I am learning to hand the burden to Him. I keep taking it back, and He keeps reminding me to release it yet again.

Bethany is living her brighter days, forever. I am still waiting on mine, but until then, I do the only thing I know to do: take it one step at a time, one day at a time.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Matthew 5:4