For Hilary, and anyone else who has lost a friend.

A couple weeks ago my friend Hilary was riding a tandem bicycle with her boyfriend Rob when they were struck by a pick-up truck. Rob was pronounced dead and Hilary was taken to the hospital. My assumption was that Hilary has been recovering in the days that have passed since the accident; I guess ignorance is bliss. The truth, as I read last night on Facebook, is that she hasn’t recovered and last night she, it’s hard to even write it, last night she died.

I first met Hilary when I working as a counselor at Stony Lake Lutheran Camp in the summer of 1999. She was tall and loud, just like me. She was on crutches which made it hard for her to get around camp, but she never stopped smiling. She came back to camp in the summer of 2000, and it seemed like she never left. I think she was at camp for 6 or 7 weeks that summer. I got to know her as more than just a camper, but as a friend. Our paths crossed a number of times since then, and she would always greet me with a smile and say, “Hi friend!”

But now she is gone and it sucks.

It sucks because her life, which she lived to the fullest, was cut short.

It sucks because she was a good person who was just riding her bike.

It sucks because I didn’t know Rob at all, but if Hilary loved him, he must have been an awesome guy.

It sucks because she was working as a Youth Director and using her God-given gifts to change lives.

It sucks because I can’t remember the last time that I talked her. We lost touch a few years ago, which was probably my fault, and now we can never re-connect. I used to have her phone number, but somehow lost it over the years. Somehow, we weren’t even Facebook friends anymore.

It sucks because I can never make up for being a bad friend.

It sucks because I assumed she was doing better and stopped praying for her.

It sucks because I didn’t and couldn’t do anything to help.

It sucks because I never got to say “Goodbye friend.”

It sucks because it hurts.

It sucks because it sucks.

I feel like I should be comforted knowing that she is in heaven. I should tell myself that “I will see her again someday as we all gather for a campfire in a place far more beautiful than Stony Lake,” (if such a place can even be imagined.) I should try to learn from this and become a better person, a better friend.

But I’m not ready for any of that. I’m not ready to be comforted. I’m not ready to be over it. I want to stay sad for a little while; I want to stay angry, because it sucks.