Honoring my childhood best friend nine years after her passing
Before we had group chats, social media, or constant access to one another, my best friend and I had notebooks.
Our little tradition began in middle school and continued throughout high school. We lived in different areas and attended different schools, so every Sunday, we exchanged the notebook at church. She would take it home for the week and fill its pages with everything I had missed—the stories, the laughter, the frustrations, and the ordinary moments that mattered to her. The following Sunday, it became my turn to take it home and share my week with her.
Page by page, we were growing up together.
Those notebooks carried pieces of our childhood that we may not have known how to say aloud. They became a private place where we could be honest, silly, emotional, and completely ourselves. We were not merely recording what happened during the week. We were making sure neither of us had to experience life alone.
The Friend Who Made Room for All of Me
Being raised by Haitian immigrants came with love, sacrifice, strong values, and plenty of rules. There were many things we were not allowed to do and many parts of ourselves we were not allowed to express.
But she was my safe place.
With her, I could truly be myself. I did not have to explain who I was, edit my feelings, or make myself smaller. I never had to shrink for her.
There is something sacred about having a friend who knows the different versions of you—the child you once were, the teenager trying to find her way, and the young woman you were becoming—and still makes room for all of them.
She knew me before adulthood added its responsibilities, disappointments, and layers. She knew the unfiltered version of me, and she loved me there.
Her friendship gave me an early glimpse of what it feels like to be known, accepted, and loved without performance. That is one of the greatest gifts one person can give another.
The Gift I Understand Differently Now
When it was time for college, we ended up attending schools in the same area, and we were so happy to finally live closer to one another. After years of exchanging our lives through notebooks and waiting for Sundays, we were finally able to share more of life in person.
At the time, it simply felt exciting.
Looking back now, especially after her passing, I recognize that season as a gift from God. We were given more time together—time that I did not yet understand would become so precious.
That is one of the difficult truths about grief: we rarely recognize which ordinary moments will one day become sacred memories. We do not know when a conversation, a laugh, or a spring break trip to New York to visit her will become something we replay years later.
On September 28, 2017, my childhood best friend passed away.
Nine years later, I still miss her. Grief has changed over time, but it has not erased the love or the memories. Sometimes it arrives through a date on the calendar. Other times, it appears unexpectedly through a song, a thought, or the desire to text her about something that is meaningful to me.
The Friend Who Remains
Jesus says in John 15:15, “I have called you friends.”
As deeply as I loved my childhood best friend—and as grateful as I will always be for the safe place she gave me—I have learned that God is the truest and closest Friend my heart will ever know.
He knows every version of me: the little girl, the teenager, the grieving woman, and the woman I am still becoming. He knows the thoughts I cannot explain and the pain I struggle to put into words. He never asks me to edit myself, perform for His acceptance, or shrink in His presence.
God did not erase the pain of losing our friendship, nor did He replace the connection we shared. Instead, He met me in the empty space where my heart still longs for that friendship.
He has held the memories, the unanswered questions, and the grief that still returns without warning. When the friend who once helped carry my stories was no longer here, God remained—the Friend who stays, listens, remembers, and continues to make room for all of me.
If grief has uncovered emotions you’ve carried quietly, begin your 5-Day Heart Check →
I also believe our earthly friendships can offer us small glimpses of His heart. Through her, I experienced safety, acceptance, laughter, and the freedom to be known. Her friendship was one of the ways God showed me what it feels like to be loved without having to perform.
To My Childhood Best Friend
Thank you for every notebook.
Thank you for every story, every secret, every laugh, and every Sunday exchange. Thank you for being the person I could run to with the parts of myself I did not know how to share anywhere else.
Thank you for giving me room to be loud, uncertain, emotional, joyful, and completely myself. Thank you for never asking me to shrink.
Perhaps this blog post is my way of honoring the notebooks we shared as teenage girls and the friendship those pages carried.
Today, I honor you by remembering how thoughtful and considerate you were. Your life was a living demonstration of servanthood. Your leadership as a high school president, along with your commitment to serving underserved schools and communities, reflected the heart you had for people. You did not merely talk about caring for others—you lived it.
I remember not only how deeply you loved me as a friend, but also how generously you loved and served those around you. Your life left evidence of your compassion, and that legacy deserves to be remembered.
I wish we had been given more time, but I remain grateful for every season we shared—from the notebook years to the college years and every memory in between.
You were one of the greatest gifts of my childhood, and your friendship helped shape the woman I became.
“I have called you friends.” —John 15:15
A Gentle Invitation
Grief can uncover emotions we have carried quietly—sadness, anger, disappointment, fear, and even the desire to control what happens next. God is not intimidated by any part of our hearts.
The Heart Check was created from this same belief: God meets us when we bring Him our whole hearts. If you are carrying emotions you have struggled to name, this five-day devotional offers a quiet place to become honest with God—without hiding, striving, or performing.
If this reflection encouraged you, subscribe to Thriving Jewelz for honest, faith-centered writing on grief, healing, and learning to abide with God—not perform for Him. 🤍
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