When They Leave: Grief our friend

I’ve lost friends to relapse.

I’ve lost friends to distance.

But losing our friend?

That one cracked my chest wide open.

She wasn’t just a woman in the room. She was the soul who sat next to me, who called it like it was, who carried wisdom like a second skin. She’s in her late 60s, lives with full-blown fibromyalgia, and still showed up with more grace and strength than people half her age.

Then she made a mistake. A real one. She hit a motorcyclist with her car.

Now she’s serving time.

But she didn’t spiral. She didn’t hide. She walked into her sentence with humility and this almost absurd level of grace — saying she wanted to use her time to learn about the system, support other incarcerated women with addictions, and figure out how we can actually do better for them after they’re released.

That’s who she is. Even walking into prison, she’s still thinking of how to help.

On May 12th, I went to the meeting without her for the first time. Her chair sat there like an unspoken ache.

I tried to hold it together. I couldn’t.

Our other friend cried while saying the closing prayer, and I lost it. I left the room before the last “Amen.”

Because she’s gone.

And it hurts like hell.

But she taught me this before she left:

You can face your consequences with dignity.

You can serve people even in the dark.

You can carry love and light into places most people only fear.

So I’m holding that.

Not perfectly. Not gracefully. But I’m holding it.

I miss you, my friend.

I hope the system doesn’t change you too much.

But I know you’re gonna change it.

With Love,

Dana & Nicky