"Amanda was the best friend I never knew I had." ... a letter from a friend.

We continue to receive wonderful letters and cards and emails, and we feel honored to have them to open and read. Each one is considered a most special piece of correspondence. Yesterday, while at a wedding and reception, people would reach out and touch us, and offer words of encouragement and a sincere smile that, when looking in their eyes, made me know their love and concern were completely authentic and truly from the heart. At the reception, a wonderful man of God spent the whole time making wonderful and encouraging conversation with me. Scores of others would have relished his company, and easily have been a more enjoyable partner. I was very thankful, and again honored.

Back to the letters ... a couple of days ago one of Amanda's classmates sent the following. She, Andria, has given me permission to post it here. As I recall, Andria was new to our school this Senior year. As it states in the letter, she knew Amanda for only a year. That year would become very precious, as it was for all Amanda's friends and family.

* * * * *
My Joy was fading. I looked down at my ankle where the henna tattoo I’d gotten three weeks ago was supposed to be. The three letter word had all but gone. It was only a symbol, a token of remembrance. But with it, I felt my real joy had gone too. 

A new wave of tears nearly overcomes me every time I think of this. It’s only been a month since Amanda died, and already I’ve forgotten. I’ve lost the legacy she passed on to the rest of us left behind.

I try to remember Amanda as the girl who would tackle each day with a huge smile. She was the girl who would let us rub her bald head when tiny fuzz began to grow back. She was the girl who could turn a tragedy like losing her left leg into one of the most unique characteristics about her. For Amanda, there was yet a challenge to come up against that she could not conquer, whether it be climbing rock walls, skiing, doing the worm, crawling onto countertops, or hiking herself up on her crutches so she could kick a door wide open.

Amanda was the girl who took the initiative to make me feel included with one simple question: “Andria, aren’t you coming?” She would bring hot chocolate with her to Drama class and share it with me. She had more reason to think about herself than anyone else. Yet, it was never about her. She was always thinking of others, always thinking of including friends like me who were new to this school, slightly insecure about fitting in, and even a bit lonely. She had the servitude, love, and forgiveness of Jesus so nailed down that she wouldn’t even let me apologize to her for breaking a promise I had made. She never even held it as an offense.

I try to remember all the beautiful things about Amanda from this short year I have known her. She was the girl who joked about her diagnosis with bone cancer in every way possible to imagine. She was the girl who showed us all joy in the journey. I try to remember that picture of her and not the shell her body was reduced to in the last two weeks of her life.
 
Amanda was the best friend I never knew I had. During the last few months, I would visit her at home and we would talk. I would tell her everything about school and she would listen, eager to hear. I always thought of our friendship as one-sided. I needed her. 

Every time I came to visit, she would thank me for coming to see her as if I had been totally selfless by sacrificing my time for her. But she couldn’t see how selfish my motivation really was. Yes, I loved her dearly. I cared for her feelings and how she was doing, and there was a part of me that wanted her to know she had a friend. Yet, she had friends. What could I be to her that she didn’t already have? I wanted to see her for me because my times with her were one of the best times I had this year. They were times of relief and joy apart from the struggles and attacks in my life. Satan couldn’t touch me when I was with Amanda because she had completely banished his presence in her life.

Amanda was possibly one of the few friends I had who truly knew how to love. I knew this, and I felt safe enough to tell her the one fear I felt I couldn’t share with any other one of my friends. Again, it was all about me. However, I found that we had something in common. *(A precious and private conversation occurred at this time.)  She told me she hated that I was going through this, .... That was the last conversation I had with her. 

Amanda was the best friend I didn’t know I had until it was too late. By the time I came for another visit, she had gotten a lot worse. In one short week, she had gone from sitting across from me carrying on a full-fledged conversation to lying in a hospital bed trying so hard to fight the pain medication so she could stay awake for my visits. She never seemed to fail me, even in that way. I wish I could say the same thing for me. I failed her at the end because I didn’t have the courage to say goodbye. Part of me was still lingering on the hope that there would always be another visit. But I have a feeling she wouldn’t even allow me to ask forgiveness for that if I could. So maybe in her view, I didn’t fail her either.

I never knew how much I meant to her until after she died. Like I said, I always thought I needed her friendship and not the other way around. It wasn’t until I received the prayer shawl she’d left for me that I found out I was special enough to her to get an inheritance. 

If Amanda’s life has taught me anything, it’s that there is no suffering too great for the love and joy of Christ. She’s inspired me to go after my dreams, even the crazy ones, with happiness and laughter. She’s taught me that life can’t be wasted away worrying about everything all the time; she chose to trust in God. She’s shown me that even the people we think have it all together still struggle with insecurities of acceptance.

Even in death, Amanda has taught me. I learned that God’s presence could be there even in the worst situations. I learned that just because I lost a friend, the grieving process could be beautiful and healing. We saw this when our entire class and many others went to sit on the McDaniel’s front lawn for six hours while we waited for Jesus to take her home. I also learned to long for Heaven. Though this life has blessings in it, it’s almost full of more pain than we can bear. What could I want more than to be with Christ now?

There is a song our class sang for our senior chapel. We sang it in honor of Amanda, knowing her time was short. The first verse says, “Soon and very soon, my King is coming. Robed in Righteousness and crowned with Love. When I see Him I’ll be made like Him, soon and very soon.” It’s funny. Only God knew how very soon it would be. She died that afternoon. It was only two weeks before our graduation. We celebrate for her and grieve for ourselves.

I can’t do much more for Amanda that she hasn’t already done for me. I can, however, use what she has taught me. More than memorials or putting flowers on her grave, or even writing this piece about her, the best honor I can give her is to remember. Time will pass and tattoos will fade because I’m too much of a wimp to get a real one, but my last promise to Amanda will never be broken. I will not forget her example, her life, and most importantly her joy.

So I will hold my prayer shawl close when I miss her friendship, I will take the inheritance she has given us and live my life with joy, and I will long and hope for the coming of my King. 


Until then,
She is whole. We are broken.