When my 5-year-old son died in 2020, my world fell quiet in a way I still can’t describe. My closest friend tried to comfort me, encouraging me to keep going even when I couldn’t. With time, I learned to function again, though the grief never truly lifted. Two months later, she suddenly moved out of state for a new job, leaving before I could fully take it in.
She stayed in touch, sending gentle updates about her new life—small reminders that healing is slow and uneven. One day, I decided to visit her as a surprise, thinking it might help us both. But when she opened the door, she looked shocked, and a strange weight settled over me.
Inside her living room, I saw a framed photo of my son on a small shelf, along with a drawing he’d made—one I thought had been lost in the chaos. My friend stood silently as I took it in.
Through tears, she told me she’d kept them safe, afraid they might disappear while I was barely holding myself together. She’d planned to return them when she felt I was ready.
In that moment, I understood: she hadn’t been urging me to move on—she was carrying a piece of my heart when I couldn’t. Grief may change our direction, but real friendship stays beside us, no matter the distance.
