My dear friend Kris,
As I sat and thought about reaching my 100th blog post, I honestly could barely remember a time when you weren’t here by my side.
You were the first person to leave a comment on my blog. You weren’t the first non-family member to comment, but my very first commenter ever. Your words made me ridiculously excited and put an end to that dreadful silence of the zero comments I had received on my first four posts.
Here’s what you said:
Which is kind of funny now, since we all know you don’t use a reader.
But, you stayed true to your word and kept reading. And commenting.
As I was finding my blogging voice, you were there. You listened, you answered my questions, and you helped me to find myself. You tolerated my DMs about such things as how to find hosting and where to buy my domain name. You tirelessly shared your knowledge.
When I explained to you what I was trying to do with this little space of mine, you truly got it. And ever since, whenever I stray off the path, you are there to help me recenter.
When I cautiously opened my heart about my early struggles with Matthew, you reassured me with:
When I shared the details of my first heartbreak, you shared this with me:
When I told the story of my brother’s death and the impact it has had on me and on my experience as a mother, you wrote:
Later, when my heart was so very heavy and I wrote about Craig’s mother’s impending death, you were there. You offered me these kind words:
And after her death, when I was floundering a bit, wondering how to reenter this blogging world, you gave me advice that made all the difference…
When I wrote of my complete craziness in trying to get pregnant, complete with microscope and ever-patient husband, you teased:
When I was brainstorming Small Moments Mondays, you were my sounding board and you were the first in line to post. You so generously handed over your beautiful moment to set the tone for my series and I will be forever grateful for that.
When my heart ached over the idea of dismantling Katie’s crib and making the transition to a big girl bed, you understood. You knew exactly what I felt:
When I shared my frustration and sadness over the labels others have placed on Katie, you shared your strength and wisdom with me:
In those days leading up to the end of Katie’s sessions with her beloved speech therapist, you understoood exactly what that relationship has meant to our family and why letting it go was so difficult:
When I felt ready to I bare my soul by sharing the story of how I faced and offerered forgiveness to my father’s murderer, you wrote:
And when I put myself out there, had my feelings hurt, and was grappling with how to process what I was feeling, you offered me the following words of wisdom:
There are so many beautiful and gracious people who have touched my life by loyally reading and commenting on my blog, but without your encouragement, I can’t say with any certaintly that I would have come even this far.
You have offered me tremendous kindness, encouragement, and guidance. You are always there to share your perspective, laughter, and wisdom.
Thank you for being my touchstone. For asnwering my questions, ad nauseum. For reading my words when I’m too timid to publish them. For pushing me to push myself.
And I know that this will make you cringe, but you continually inspire me. Your writing is truly impeccable. It is beautiful and transportive, irreverent and provocative. Your dedication to your blog, to your readers, to your friends speaks volumes about the woman that you are.
You are a beautiful blend of strength and vulnerability, serious and silly, hard and soft.
You are the perfect paradox.
And you are my friend.
Your friendship proves that blog friends are real.
I am so beyond blessed.
I love you,