A letter to my friend

Dear beautiful friend,

You’ve gone. It’s finally sinking in.

I’m sitting here surrounded by work, we have bid you farewell and then it strikes me – there’s no more texting.

I’ve realised this is when I’m going to miss you most – on the stupid, small, insignificant moments when I would text you to see if you’re in for a brew, for a skive, to have a whinge, to talk about the new beau in my life.

It’s those small moments that made our friendship – there weren’t any big holidays, we didn’t even go on that many mental nights out, but you were part of the fabric of my life, the day to day intertwined happenings of the small stuff.

The moments where we simply sat and chewed the cud, talked about nonsense – and as it turns out I can’t even remember half the conversations.

What it has made me realise is what makes a friend (well to be honest I sort of knew that already) – and your illness and passing – has also made me realise how lucky and blessed I am.

In this quagmire of grief, there’s also so much to smile about. Turns out grief ricochets likes ripples in the pond, in the epicentre is your hub and two small things and then as the ripples span out like skimming stones there’s a support network of people for every ripple in that pond. As I tried to help you and yours, people were helping me and mine, making me thankful for all the beautiful friends (and family) I have in my own life.

So while I sit here – missing you in this moment, in a week where I have also been grateful for the extra time I suddenly have in my life – instead of texting you, I’ve text other beautiful friends and got replies that have made me smile and made me grateful for all my blessings.

There’s a saying – don’t sweat the small stuff – but it’s the small stuff that counts. It’s the small stuff that grows into the big things – and frankly I like the small stuff.

The small moments that make you belly laugh in life, the stupid notes the small things write, walking the dog in the rain and looking up to be slapped in the face by a great big fat leaf, going to the gym and getting a random hug from a spin girl because no words are needed.

It’s these things that frame our life, that become our constants and our stories. And it’s the small things I will mainly try and remember – if my memory wasn’t so pants.



Sarah Knight

Trainer and coach in communications. Plate spinner.

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