Living just four blocks down the street from my best friend made it easy to share clothes, secrets, and families. We could be found within a close radius of her backyard pool most summer days. The rhythm of our summer days revolved around Gretchen’s dad’s third-shift work schedule. During the morning hours, the house needed to stay dark and quiet, so we picked peppermint leaves to chew, painted our nails, and read books. Not long after lunchtime, Mr. Liddell would wake up, which paved the way for our favorite summer activity: synchronized swimming routines.
We practiced and laughed until we felt ready for an audience. Gretchen’s dad always stopped mid-project to be amazed by our mildly in sync pool programs. He clapped and went back to work while we kept playing. His presence was as steady as the summer sun. He wasn’t merely my friend’s dad; he was a comfortable, expected constant in my life.
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The familiarity born by all those shared moments made his cancer diagnosis particularly awful for me. I was desperate to be as real a best friend in the halls of the hospital as I had been poolside for my friend who was losing her dad. My seventeen-year-old self struggled to accomplish that while bearing the weight of my own goodbye to the man who felt like a second father to me.
My mom saw cracks forming in me and called in the support of my beloved youth pastor, who now lived hours away. He spoke words that enabled me to square my shoulders and breathe new life into my spirit...
Please join me at The Glorious Table to read to the end - these words have the power to breathe new life into you too!
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