To my dearest childhood friend, you knew me back when no one else did.

You knew my mum’s mood swings, my messy house, and my “real life” that I was so ashamed of.

You were the “cool kid,” the one who stood up for me, the one who didn’t judge me, and the only one I allowed into my home as a child.

You’re gone now with the angels in the place of love.

I still remember the many photos we would take of ourselves back when selfies were not a thing. Back when we had to hold a real camera and it was hard to get our arm long enough to be in the frame. Lol, those were the days!

We didn’t speak for many years leading up to your passing, and I’m so sorry about that. I’m sure you had things to talk about, and I’m sure you just wanted my love. I want you to know that I never stopped loving you—I never stopped believing in you.

You were a wonderful mother, a wonderful friend, and a wonderful human being. You felt deeply, my friend, and in the end, I think life was too much. I think you couldn’t take it anymore, and when your lung collapsed it was your way to finally let go.

You were never relaxed; you were always putting out fires, and I could see myself in you. In doing so, it may have been a distraction to your own much needed healing.

You were always such a good listener—one of the best!

I don’t feel you as gone; I feel you as forever changed, but not gone. You were like a sister to me.

We connected in so many ways, including each other’s pain.

You were never the yoga type, but you amused me with my deep dive into it at such a young age, and my, sometimes, obsession to find wholeness.

You found your own ways of self-care when you were feeling positive and in the flow. I always admired you saying that you would wake up every morning with a positive song that sets the tone for the rest of the day.

I loved that you were always trying, dear heart. You had worldly successes being a chartered accountant. You offered great advice, had a worldwide credential, and still so much pain lived inside of you.

We lost connection in the years leading up to your death, and although I was not with you physically or emotionally in the end, you were constantly in my heart and prayers.

These last years, I have been working on recognizing that no one can be saved. I think that it’s easy to read these words and agree to them, but putting them into practice for some of us is another matter—especially those who have struggled with people pleasing in the hopes of our inner child being loved and cared for.

What I do know is that being present with ourselves and another while offering them their peace is something I know we can do. Perhaps even sharing in our own path as something to ponder?

But we can’t take their pain or lessons away, nor can we go with them. Understanding this has and continues to be a hard, yet necessary step toward my own personal growth and healing.

I have always loved what Louise Hay said about this kind of thing, “You can’t get sick enough to take someone else’s pain or illness away.”

Thank you, my dear friend, for all the laughs where we almost peed ourselves in public—especially when I insisted that I would drive myself to my own wedding. I still, to this day, laugh so hard at you laughing at me for doing that! You wanted to get me a limo and, I think today, it was because you just wanted to take good care of me. Perhaps you were teaching me that it is safe to receive and that being independent all the time is overrated.

Today, I recognize interdependence as a practice and it’s because of spending time with you that I can see this.

You have deeply impacted me and my life, BFF. We may not have been in contact before your death, but I feel you today more than ever. I feel your love, your forgiveness, and my hope is to bathe in it, receive it, and share it with others. Your message of love, laughing, and being a good listener will never be in vain. I will carry your message in my heart and visit your sweet little boy in Australia when we are better able to fly again.

Thank you for being my friend, and thank you for your unconditional love; I am eternally grateful for our soul connection.

Mellara

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