I turned 36 the other day. It’s funny…I started my professional life as a secondary school literature teacher, and while I have been away from the classroom for over five years now, I always think of the middle of June as the start of the new year. As happenstance would have it, that’s when my birthday falls as well. New beginnings all around. I’ve been longing for months for the “fresh start” that comes with a new year, the one that I don’t figuratively feel in January. So, here I am…36.

However, while I anticipate this feeling of “renewal” each June, this month also coincides with the anniversary of the passing of my oldest and closest friend. I simultaneously feel optimistic for a new year, and a deep grief that Amanda does not get to CONTINUE to experience another new year of ups and downs with me, earth-side. 35 was, in many ways, an emotionally taxing year on an incredibly personal level, and I selfishly long for the opportunity to sit across from Amanda and talk to her for both her witty banter and keen insight on the things I’ve experienced. Even when she was struggling with battles I can not even begin to fathom, in particular due to her health (for our entire time as friends), she always, always, ALWAYS had the time for a cup of coffee, a glass of wine, or simply a phone call (and she wouldn’t put me on speaker phone, and tune me out while she tended to other things). Not surprisingly, memories of Amanda have been in the forefront of my mind these last few weeks.

I met Amanda when I was in middle school, and even though we attended the same school, we didn’t end up in the same classroom until 7th grade. She and I, on a personality level, were polar opposites — I was reserved, timid, and overly cautious — Amanda was extroverted, courageous, and dared to take risks. However, we bonded at a young age over our love of reading, writing, and TALKING. We went to different high schools, and went our separate ways for a long time when we were teenagers, but we consistently crossed paths. Truly, to this day, she is the ONLY person in my life – no matter what kept us apart, for whatever amount of time – who I was pulled back to over and over again. We both were English majors at Temple University, and ended up in the same 200+ person lecture hall…more time passed, and I was out with some theatre friends at a diner, and she was our waitress… more time passed and when I rented my first apartment with Chris, it was a short walk to where she lived. At that point, we didn’t lose touch again.

I have been replaying the last time I saw Amanda in person before she passed, which was about a week before everything shut down due to Covid in 2020. She had another surgery related to her cancer, and I was visiting her at the hospital. While everyone was talking about Covid at this point, we weren’t (at least, I wasn’t) thinking of the massive shutdown and months of social distancing to follow. I laid in her hospital bed with her, Chris sat on a chair across the room, and she and I talked, even though it was extremely tough for her to do so at this point…as I said before, we LOVED to talk (think the pace of the banter of Lorelei and Rory on Gilmore Girls). I was asking how she was feeling, and she told me she wanted to hear about what was going on in my life (even though she had so much going on in her own). Before I left, and despite how much pain she was in, she whispered to me to see if the doctor had a wedding ring because he was cute, and we both bust out laughing. Over the years, I had been to Amanda’s radiation appointments, and I had stayed with her at various times when she had surgeries before. I just wish I had known this time was different…I would have stayed until they literally pried me away from her.

When I was agonizing over leaving teaching in 2019, Amanda was one of the few people that knew I had been given a job offer as a music director. Outside of my husband, I think Amanda knew the most about the love/hate relationship I had for my job in the classroom. She would come to my house, or I would go to her house, and while she would talk to me, I would grade English papers. To this day, I don’t know how I never got a handle on the workload I would take home, but she knew it well, because I would dampen many “hang-out” sessions with grading. While I was teaching, I was singing in local churches to make some extra money, and because singing in church brought me…JOY. Pure and simple. People-pleaser that I was (and unfortunately, still tend to be), I asked many people in my life their thoughts on my decision to leave teaching to become a music director…mostly everyone thought I was making a foolish decision because it wasn’t the “safe” option for long-term job security (and honestly, that’s objectively true). But, when I told Amanda about this offer, she said, “Well, you’re obviously taking this job, right?” I remember saying all of the above, and her response to that was, “you have been wanting to leave teaching. You love to sing. This opportunity is here. Take a shot at it. There’s really no more to think about. Likely, this won’t happen again.” When Amanda would say anything in the vein of “life is too short,” it took on a much different meaning because she, in fact, knew the accuracy of the cliche. I look back and appreciate the insight in that moment, and I do love that I get to make music as part of my livelihood…at least at this point in my life. Even though Amanda was NOT a fan of musicals, or church music (not at all – LOL), she is always on my mind when I am singing, and I am forever grateful. If it wasn’t for Amanda’s unabashed truth when speaking with me, in addition to my husband’s support, I don’t think I would be doing something I am so passionate about.

I have so many stories and memories, but one in particular that genuinely sums up her character is from 2016, and I did write about this on my Facebook page shortly after her passing. [Amanda was one of the few people in my life privy to how incredibly poor my body-image tends to be. My cousin, Courtney, was having a surprise birthday party in 2016 and we were all dressing up. It was three years after my wedding, and I put on a ton of weight, that I had worked so hard to lose. So, in shallow self-pity, I was up in my bedroom crying. Amanda arrived at my house because she was attending the party, and Chris told her I was upstairs having a hard time deciding what to wear. I was having a legitimate, pathetic melt-down. Amanda comes in our room, closes the door and says, “if you hate that dress and how it looks, take mine. You are going to have a good time tonight, I promise!” She had a way more flattering empire waisted type of dress – one that looked flattering on most any body. And before I even said anything, she took the dress RIGHT OFF HER BACK, and GAVE me her dress. And if you knew Amanda, you knew that she really thought out her outfits with the matching jewelry and the kick ass shoes. But, she just took something else from my closet because I felt better in HER dress].

Maybe these written memories seem disjointed to a reader, but I could write for hours about my shared experiences with Amanda. They were many. They were varied. They were treasured. This year, I had many moments of profound sadness and anxiety in my personal life, and in turn, my renewed grief for Amanda’s loss would come back in sudden, intense rushes because in my adulthood, she was so often the person I would turn to for advice, for a hard truth, and for a distraction (I don’t mean distraction negatively…I mean that we would do fun things, or just spend time in each other’s company, even when life felt at an all-time low).

Amanda – I miss you and I love you. Today and always.