Everyone has that friend. The one you who walks into your house without knocking or calling first. The one who invites herself over for dinner. The one who answers every text within seconds because she understands your anxiety. The one who sends you birthday cards in the mail even though they see you every day in person but they know it will be more special that way. I remember the last time I saw you. I remember driving in your car and stopping at the store, I remember you sneaking me a cigarette even though I wasn’t supposed to be smoking. I remember sitting outside your apartment laughing and planning what to do to celebrate both of our birthdays because they fell so close together. I remember your birthday. You should be 36 now. Instead you’re forever 33. No one ever tells you that losing a friend forever is one of the hardest things you’ll have to go through in life. Losing the person you tell every detail about your day to is like losing your dominant hand. it’s kind of hard to do everything without it. It’s kind of hard to do everything we used to do now, without you. No one ever tells you how hard it is to lose that friend because no one is supposed to lose that friend.

Dear Unsealers,

I am a 36 year old woman and wife to my 39 year old husband. My husband was diagnosed with primary progressive MS in 2013 the year we met and also got married (when you know you know!) At first the only visible sign from the outside looking at him was his gait and poor balance, he always appeared to be drunk when you watched him walk. From his perspective, he could no longer see out of his right eye, which became permanent, he was retaining urine which was not safe, he was having a hard time doing his job which involved using his hands and fine tools due to neuropathy like symptoms. Now he uses a cane and a walker and takes medication for spasms in his legs. Now he has also bein diagnosed with major neurocognitive disorder which is a basic open term for dementia. I am his caregiver with the help of a home health aid 12 hours a week. Neither of us expected to be in this position when we met in January of 2013 and married that September. It progressed rather fast and more than likely won’t stop. My husband has a great attitude though which is amazing for him, and so hard for me sometimes, I’ll admit. Sometimes I want to talk about everything and cry, but he already pushed it out and doesn’t think about it like I do somehow. He’s teaching me in his own way how to be more optimistic and less stressed over things you can’t control. I have my own illnesses, mental illnesses, that flare so to speak when I am stressed and it’s helpful to be with such a strong person. Sometimes I don’t know if I have it in me to be a wife and a caregiver to the same person at such a young age; then I think about how we’re helping each other out in different ways I just forget to see it that way, the way it is.

When asked my biggest fear, I close my eyes and imagine what my life would be like without you, and that moment alone is terrifying enough that I already have my answer without having to blink again. My biggest fear is having a great day, or a horrible day, and not being able to call you anymore to tell you about it. My biggest fear is needing an old favorite recipe and knowing you’re the only one who has it and now I’ve got no one to ask anymore. When the holidays come along and I don’t want any gifts but you always asked for a wish list, I’m scared I’m going to wish you were here and be sorely disappointed when you don’t come through like you always have before. Part of my job as a daughter is to open my heart up as wide as it goes and take in all the advice, stories, wisdom, and love while I can so if you leave before I do I’ll have enough to keep me going. I just don’t know if or when that day ever comes if I will know what to do, who to call, when to cry, where to fall. You have always been my roller coaster sidekick and I don’t know if I trust this ride without you. If you ask me what my biggest fear is in life, it’s having a life without you in it, mom.