It has been 13 years since I saw my best friend.   The person that I spent countless days and nights with, laughing, giggling, and doing what typical 10 year old girls do.  That was back when Kitchen Little was cool.  Back when we could play with Barbies.  Back when we tortured our little brothers.  When we were in Girl Scouts together.

13 years and 1 day ago I found out the inevitable was upon us.  Then, 12 years and 364 days ago I lost that best friend. The one person that I really truly trusted and loved. Overcome by a disease that she was born with and had no control over.  Every one of the days in her 10 year life she fought.  Fought for her life, fought against the disease that was consuming her, and fought for her right to have fun.

Cystic Fibrosis took my best friend from me 12 years and 364 days ago.  To this day, the pain is still there.  While most days it is buried in some part of my heart or the other, I am almost unaffected.  There are other days, however, where the pain of losing her hits like it was just yesterday I found out.

My mom told me one day that Becky was extremely sick, in the hospital, and ultimately, wouldn’t be coming home.  As a mother, how do you explain death to a 10 year old child?  How do you, as a 10 year old little girl, grasp the concept of death?  Really, how does anyone grasp the concept of death?  You don’t.  At least I didn’t.  Not at 10.  All that can really be grasped is that soon, that best friend will no longer be able to play with you, laugh with you, or have sleepovers with you.  I cried for a long while on the couch with my mom that night after she told me, because really, that’s all that I could do.

The pain for me as a 10 year old must not be anything compared to that of her mother.  As a mother myself now, I couldn’t imagine what the pain of losing a child is like.  Everything that is associated with death and the arrangements that have to be made is all too much to comprehend.  Plus, this same mourning mother had to explain to her  toddler son why his sister wasn’t coming home.

As of the year 2000, (just 3 years after she passed away) the median predicted age of survival (or life expectancy) for a person with Cystic Fibrosis was 32 years old.  Still very much too young to lose your life.  You see, Cystic Fibrosis has no cure.  It is said that with certain treatments or therapies, and proper nutrition, can lengthen and improve the quality of life for those with CF.  Lung transplants are often an option for CF patients, and while Becky was on the list, she never received her new lungs.

Becky watches over me, my family, and everyone else she ever loved.  She will forever be in my heart, and I find myself sometimes talking to her.  There are times where I wonder what she’d be like today.  In my mind, I imagine she looks the same, though a bit more mature.  Would she have babies of her own?  Would she be married?  Would we still be friends?  She was too good for this world, and was meant to watch over us all from Heaven.

Rest In Peace, my friend.  I love you.

If you want to read another post I wrote for her a few years ago, you may find it here.