Part 3 of the series – The Ones Walking With You
I met Adria at summer camp right before 6th grade. I think. Honestly, neither of us remember the year exactly. When I met her, she had already lost her dad. I guess because I wasn’t around for that and because I learned about her losing her dad secondhand, her loss didn’t get a chance to inform me or give me a definition for who she was. For all I knew, she was just the cool, sporty girl down the hall who went to my school’s rival school until she wanted to be known as otherwise.
I think that’s the first thing that somehow by the grace of God I did right as an 11/12-year-old. Don’t let people’s loss tell you who they are- let them speak for themselves. Let them tell you who they are, on their terms. Because what you don’t know is that they’re going to spend the majority of their lives fighting to NOT be known as “the girl who lost her dad” and resisting letting that loss become their identity.
A second thing I learned pretty quickly was to become a student of my friend. I had no context for what that loss felt like and I had a lot to learn. Thankfully, I’m naturally slower to speak than most. This sounds really mature and spiritual, but it is only because I’m insecure about saying the wrong thing and slow at processing in real time. This all prevented me from ever trying to speak into her experience at the risk of almost surely sounding ignorant and condescending, no matter how pure my intentions.
I knew I didn’t have a clue what she was feeling, but I wanted to learn. I made it clear that I was eager to empathize with her and that I was going to be patient with her in that. I’ve spent most of our friendship soaking in the pieces of her life she has chosen to share with me, in the increments she has chosen to share them, and responding with sentiments of “I’m so sorry,” “I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” and “take as long as you need.”
Another thing I did was I also made sure she knew I didn’t need anything from her. There are no requirements for our friendship. I don’t need her to be more ok, get over it, move past it, be healed or whole in order to be my friend. I don’t need her to be anything other than who she is today.
Once I realized that grief is a process that comes and goes in waves and operates on its own timeline, the only thing I knew to offer Adria was the freedom and safety to take a deep dive into that process. I knew I needed to make myself available when she needed to come up for air, when she needed someone to pull her out, when she needed a raft to rest on, and when she needed someone to encourage her to dive back in. Those aren’t my caves to swim through. Our job as friends is not to get scuba-certified in someone else’s deep, dark waters of loss and go on tandem dives together. The only One who gets to travel to those depths with your friend is Jesus and believe me, He’s better at it than any of us on our best day. You can trust Him to “go there” with your people.
Other than that, everything I’ve learned about walking through loss with a friend has come from us talking about it. I can’t walk through this with her very well for very long if I’m afraid to ask questions. It’s not an every day conversation, but because this is something that is going to inform and shape Adria’s life for all of her life, I’m always going to have more to learn.
Over the past 12 years I’ve learned she doesn’t like to make a big deal about the anniversary of her father’s death or Father’s day. I’ve learned she doesn’t want to be known only for surviving the loss of her Father. I’ve learned she’ll share what she wants to share when she’s ready to share it. And she gets full permission to decide when that is and how much it is. I’ve learned she doesn’t even need me to respond every time she shares something with me, she just needs to tell somebody. And I’ve learned that “somebody” doesn’t always need to be me.
I definitely haven’t walked this road perfectly (not even close), but I’ve done my best. Even more than anything I’ve said yet, I think the most important thing I have ever done for Adria has been to talk to God about her, to take her to His feet and plead with Him on her behalf on the days she hasn’t had it in her to do it for herself. I have had to ask Him for wisdom and discernment on how to walk through this valley with her well.
And those are things I’ll do for the rest of my days: be available, give freedom, be a safe place, pray. I don’t have anything to offer, but I know Who does. He’s got her. And He’s got me.
-Mary-Michael McCathren
