Her Light is Still Shining

On May 25, 2007, my lifelong friend, Amy Kritzberger, wrote me a note containing the following sentence: 

"No matter how many miles we'll be apart, even if the hands of time separate us.. you will FOREVER be my first and one of the greatest best friends I've ever had." 

Though I smiled as I read those words the first time, comforted by the promise of a forever confidant and a continuation of the longest friendship I'd ever had, I was unaware of how much those same words would mean in just a few short months. On August 13, 2007, Amy was killed in a car accident on Highway 49 just ten miles south of our hometown. I remember hearing the news and cursing my mother for even daring to speak such a horrible thing, insisting she was misinformed, relying on my own selfish emotions more than the clear facts in front of me.

She wouldn't leave us. She was the backbone of our class, the reason we all remained so close over the years, the most genuine person I had ever known - she couldn't be gone. But the tears of my classmates, the flowers being placed on her boyfriends van as a makeshift memorial, the hallow feeling in my chest - countless signs kept reminding me that she really was... gone. 

Her words provided comfort when nothing else seemed to work. "No matter how many miles..." and "even if the hands of time separate us..." echoed the kind of intuitive wisdom that Amy always had. And like I always do when I can't find the right words to say, I wrote. The day after Amy died I wrote the following post, a tribute to a girl I grew to love, admire, and respect over our 15 or so years together.

Written August 14, 2007:

"She always told me that you have to live in the moment. Never settle. She was there for me when my heart was broken. She hugged me when I most needed it. She was the one person who knew just what to say at the perfect moment. 

So what do you do when the person who is always there to heal your heart is the person you are grieving for?  She is not here to make this go away.  She's not here to wipe away my tears and make me a burned CD of perfect songs to make me smile.  Our Beautiful Amy is gone and we can't say or do anything to get her back.

When we were only 3 years old, she became my first best friend.  I would crawl over my fence into her backyard and we would spend the whole day together.  We would make french fries in her little toy-oven and drive around in her play car.  

Our first, and only fight, came when we were about 5 or 6 years old.  I don't even know what started it but I remember her friend, Tyrel, flipping me the middle finger at one point... at the time, I didn't even know what it meant but I knew it wasn't good. 

It is so difficult to believe, and always will be, that she isn't with us.  It just isn't fair that someone that young, that beautiful, that determined... can be gone without a moment's notice.

Amy's gorgeous eyes, harmonious nature, philosophical mind, free spirit, and gentle words of wisdom will forever live on in the memories of each and every one of us who loved her.  In the words of Miss Amy, 'Don't be afraid that your life will end... Only be afraid if it never begins.'  Amy's life began. She lived every day to its fullest and made the best of every situation.  She truly is an angel now."

I've been told over and over that time heals all wounds. Though I admit that the sting I felt that day has softened, the pain is more bearable, I would never say that I have healed. None of the people who loved Amy (and boy were there plenty of us) will ever feel quite as whole, as complete, as when she was here on Earth. There are certain people who carry light with them everywhere they go - the kind of people with infectious laughter and unlimited love. Amy was one of those rare and precious souls. She was a light in my life and in so many others. The beauty is that on the very day that her light was extinguished here on Earth, God passed that light onto each and every person who loved her. We carry a bit of Amy with us as we graduate college or get married or fulfill dreams or have babies or break down barriers or simply sit quietly by the lake, toes in the water, staring at a beautiful sunset. She's there. Always. And where she is now - her light shines brighter than ever.

At the butterfly release to honor Amy's memory, this beautiful monarch decided to hang out for a while before it flew away. We did get our goodbye after all. Thank you for that, Amy.