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Belongs to: Sometimes every day is a struggle can you relate t
My hardest moment. The call that my best friend was gone. We were 39 yrs old. I was driving on a busy street in Fort Wayne and my husband started to talk and I cut him off that I had these calls from some number I don’t know but i called back and its some guys voice but that they kept calling while I was in class(was back in school and this was not 2 months out from my husband’s cardiac arrest and me having to do cpr on him and all that happened that night)…he asked if I could stop driving a moment so I pulled to side of road…he started telling me and I just hung up on him snd called her mom. Her mom answered the phone and I said her name and that it was Cyndi…she just started crying saying our girls gone…too much to type after all that. So in 2 and a half months my husband nearly died, my best friend did and in between I got horrible news that I can’t go into. If you don’t talk about these things that happened to you to somebody and you bury them they will resurface later…yrs later in ugly ways. Robyn was my best friend since we were 12. I miss her every day. It was the darkest day of my life and eventually I had to talk about it. There’s been more but not enough time or room. Listen…between that and all my stuff as a kid…you have to go to therapy. It was best thing I ever did and its totally ok. I talked about it online constantly bc I will help break stigmas too!! Love to all of you! Sorry this is so long. Somebody needs you.
This is so brutal. Trauma taps into your “reserve strength” - the backup energy / grit you have in you that your daily life doesn’t require from you. And when you’re in the wake of one trauma with your husband - literally having to keep him alive…talk about brutal - and then you have this SHOCK. This ASSAULT on your reality. That the friend you love the most is gone. Suddenly. Out of nowhere. The beautiful, strong thread of her life cut violently and abruptly short. Shocking, devastating, horrifying. Makes you want to scream until your vocal cords ache. To push against the turning of the world to make the cruelty of existence continuing without her stop. It’s hard when the ache converts to rage, and you just want to explode on everyone and everything around you, and you hope that by releasing it, you will shut the hole in your chest up, but nothing can. Nothing does. It just is emptiness where they were. And that is deeply, deeply sad.
It’s brilliant that you chose to reach out. Over and over and over. Online, through therapy, with others. Because if there is anything that can lessen the ache, it is not carrying it alone. It’s choosing to let someone else put their shoulder next to yours and carry the weight of the grief with you. For them to remember her name with you. That they would know Robyn. And feel a glimpse of her light through you and the memory you have of her. And that they would know her life was beautiful. And that you loved her. And that you miss her.
That is strength. That is humanity. You honor her with the way you carried the grief of her loss. And you honor her by choosing to live, choosing to create something with your life, to be a light on her behalf. To carry her legacy forward.
Thank you for sharing, and for the way you live in honor of Robyn.