To Bear Witness

Have you ever had a day—one of those days—that split your life into before and after? One that shakes the ground beneath you so deeply? You barely remember how to stand in the version of the world that came before.

I’ve had a few. More than one, actually. Each time, it disorients me. It feels like I’ve been spun around. I’ve been set down in a world that looks the same but feels completely different. Today is one of those days.

I’m not sure who reads what I write anymore—or if my words matter to the bigger picture. But I need to speak, if only to make room for the ache in my chest.

A dear friend lost her daughter. Her angel. And my heart is breaking wide open for her.

And yet… beneath the grief, there is peace. A strange, holy peace. Because I don’t believe that love just vanishes. I believe her spirit lives on—in every person who ever truly saw her, knew her, or loved her.

This wasn’t just any child. She was fierce. Bright. Hilarious. She survived the harshest terrain known to modern youth. It was the suburban American public school. She had a chronic condition in a small body that endured more than any of us imagine. Pain. Discomfort. Hair loss. Vision challenges. And still, she smiled. Still, she played. She loved. She lifted others up, even while carrying so much herself.

She taught us lessons we didn’t even know we were learning.

Around 2 a.m., I sat with one of my daughters. She shared memories that stopped me in my tracks. They were of moments I didn’t even know I missed. She also spoke of friendships I hadn’t fully seen unfolding.

She told me about T-bird (as we lovingly called her). T-bird had shown up for her on the hardest days of her life. How her presence brought calm, how she loved her out loud, like a big sister. How they dreamed together of growing up, getting better at adulting—with their moms never too far away, just in case. She held my daughter when she was scared. She made her laugh. And she knew she was hurting.

“I’ll never be the same,” my daughter whispered.

And I believe her.

Another daughter remembered summer days from as far back as she recall. They were carefree moments. T-bird would come over, sit in silence, and somehow make the air feel easier to breathe. Like sisters. No stress. No mess. Just connection.

I regret the moments I missed. I regret the assumptions I made. Because while we parents were tangled in worry and plans and fears, they—our children—were building bridges between each other. Holding space. Listening. Loving.

They were doing what we forget how to do.

I’ve always believed that kids could change the world if we just let them speak. If we could just listen. If we stopped trying to fix every word. If we didn’t frame or guide them. Instead, we should simply bear witness to their truth.

Today is a day that changed me. Again.

To T-bird—thank you for showing up for my girls. Thank you for your bravery. Your kindness. Your laughter. Thank you for reminding us that love doesn’t vanish. It multiplies. It carries on. It lives on in every heart you touched.

You mattered. You still do.

And we will never be the same.