My friend Ali

The day I met Alicia, I knew I wanted to be her friend. She was wearing a cute hat, she was thin and adorable. We were introduced at the salad bar by the recruiter of the boarding academy and I over-compensated a little because I was so excited, interested, I wanted to get to know this brunette with big blue eyes. Her wheelchair might have been why I wanted to get to know her. It might have had nothing to do with it. But she rolled away, seeing what else the school had to offer and I made up my mind to befriend that cute girl in the wheelchair. The rest of that year was spent preparing for the girl in the wheelchair to attend the next year. Ramps were installed, handlebars in the downstairs dorm room that had a bathroom, everything Alicia might need. And the next year, there she was, getting all registered for school. I went right up to her and reintroduced myself. She didn't remember me at all, but that didn't deter me from forcing my way into her life. I bubbled over with words, with smiles, with introductions, opening up my circle of friends to fit her in.
I was so nervous. I wanted her to be my friend, so nervous someone else would swoop in and scoop her up. I went out of my way to make sure she felt included, felt like a part of my little group of weirdos. I remember the first time I hung out with her with my sister... She had this giant three wheeled bike that she would ride around and around the school, exercising her slowly failing legs. I saw her through my window and I quickly grabbed my little sister (a new little freshman herself), and ran out to walk along side her slow pedaling. I remember being nervous, not knowing what to talk about. She was such a shy person. I do remember never asking her why she was in a wheelchair. I never brought it up first. I just let other people ask when I was sitting next to her, babbling about nothing and smiling like an idiot.
My fear of her being stolen from me before I had a chance to get to know her was completely unfounded. I had this unshakable feeling that she was my treasure... someone I had to protect. And looking back, I cannot express how glad I am God put that on my heart. So quiet, so far from home, feeling like an alien, I don't know that anyone else would have committed to forcing her to open up to friendship.
I don't know when we became best friends. It felt instantaneous. Suddenly she was part of every meal, every rec, every memory. I would ride to the church on her lap, her motorized wheelchair wheezing under the weight of two flirty girls giggling their way past their peers. She would ask us to help her stand for music during church, and she was always freezing during the sermon, so I would rub her feet and hands and try to keep her warm. And then on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, we would take a blanket out to the front yard or the back yard or the football field and lie in the sun surrounded by our friends, knitting and reading, listening to each other's music, flirting with the cute boys and making those perfect memories.
I don't think it took me long to turn her from Alicia into Ali... Princess Ali... Ali-Cat... she was mine. One of my best friends.  Nor did it take us long to name her chair, name her bike... we took her and her chair and her oddities and her differences in, we took them in and made them all a part of our little friendship family. She helped me woo the boy I liked and we used to pretend we were the parents of our group... she would call us mommy and daddy and it was so much fun.
Whenever we needed to do something for school, a field trip or whatever, she knew she had us to count on. Every night for evening worship, I would put her on my back and carry her up the stairs. She didn't have to worry about asking for help because we were there to help her. I remember carrying her on my back along the beach... to the river... She got to ride a four wheeler, and so I got to ride a four wheeler.
There is so much I love about Ali... her humor, her love, her patience, her kindness, her gentle and unending faith in God.
When I finally opened up and let myself ask her questions about why she was in a wheelchair... I think that was when I really discovered how deeply our friendship ran. I remember a day where we were sitting on her bed, she was lying in my lap with her head on my chest, crying about losing her mobility. Crying about a boy she liked. Crying about something bigger than I could really comprehend, but wanted so badly to heal. She has a timeline. She knows how long her life will be. To know, everyday, that you lose a little more of what you can do for yourself, is a terrible burden to bear. And holding her against me, petting her hair, wishing I could do SOMETHING, I could see her heartbeat in her throat. Fluttering there. So strong, so sure, so... permanently fragile. And I imagined being there, in that same position, holding my dearest friend at 35... 40... 45 if we're truly lucky... watching that fluttering as it died away. And I cried. And she told me that I would make a great mother some day. I don't think I had ever really thought about how much I wanted to be a mom until that day.
Every day of being her friend, I am proud of her. I am thankful that I have a friend so wonderful as Ali, so willing to let me in. A million amazing memories with a girl who has changed me in so many ways.

"I've heard it said

That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good."

-For Good, Wicked

Not every moment is brushed with gold, we bickered about silly things, I would get irrationally mad about this and that. She started dating the boy I had been wanting her to date since the year before, but she told someone else first. I held a grudge for a long time. I wanted to be most important, like most friends do... I was jealous and mean sometimes because I didn't know how to deal with my own feelings. I would sometimes be mad because she didn't say thank you, not thinking about the fact that it was so hard for her to not be able to do things for herself. And when we both started dating boys, we would focus on ourselves and not prioritize the other one as much as we should. Ever single fight, I regret. Every single moment of anger wasn't worth clogging up my memories of her. 

She got married not long after we graduated from high school. I came to stay with her before her wedding, sleeping next to her, holding her hand as she got her eyebrows waxed, so happy and proud of her. I was in her wedding, sobbing my eyes out as her father carried her down the aisle. She was the most beautiful bride I had ever seen. 

I was in Guam when she told me she was pregnant. I was so excited, so hopeful... and so filled with fear. She was weaker than she was in high school. She was sick... so sick. She had only reasons to be afraid and worry, but every time I talked to her, every time we skyped... she was hopeful. She would tell me, "I will worry and mourn when I have a reason to." When she found out her baby had Turner's Syndrome, she named her. She prayed. She was prayed and prayed and prayed. And her husband did whatever he could to make sure she was taken care of. He left his job and moved her in with her parents so she would be safe. Hooked up to IVs and sicker than anyone should have to be... She'd call me. And we'd laugh and talk and hope and pray. And when she lost the baby, we cried. 

5 months... 10 short weeks away from her c-section date. I think what killed her the most was that as soon as the baby was out of her, she felt well again. Her sickness was gone, her appitite was back. She could keep her fluids down. I did everything I could. I poured as much love through that computer screen as ever has been poured. It wasn't enough. It could never have been enough. I sent her a care package and I begged God to give me the wisdom to know how to be there for her. And I reminded her over and over again that she was a mother no matter what, forever... she was a mother. All around her, friends and family were giving birth to healthy babies. And she had to mourn her's. I couldn't heal her. 

I am so powerless in her life. I have so little to give her. But I want to remind her every day that she is so important to me. So loved. And that no matter what, I am no farther than a phone call away.