It sounds like a line after hearing “Knock, knock”, but it isn’t. It’s a question my brain has been asking for over a year. No joke.

I am grieving the person I thought she was. And I am grieving the person she has shown herself to be.

I haven’t always been a good friend. For a long time, I didn’t even fully understand what being a good friend meant. I didn’t grow up with clear role models for friendship. My parents’ social lives were tightly woven into family life. Their friends were relatives: aunts, uncles, and cousins who were part of an established, ongoing cycle of connection. Check-ins were assumed. Presence was built in. Friendship, as a separate relationship to be nurtured intentionally, wasn’t som