Getting Through Grief

I read this on briomag.com and it was really, really sad. I couldn't imagine ever losing my best friend...or anyone for that matter.
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I glanced at the clock as I hauled my suitcase out from under the bed. It was almost 5 p.m. In just a few minutes my cousin and best friend, Ami, would call. She called me every other day at exactly 5 p.m., and I called her on the other days at 5:06. It was an “Ami and Elizabeth thing” — just like us rooming together on the youth retreat every year, which was the event for which I was packing.
I loved youth retreats. Typically, I was painfully shy, but it was easy to make friends when there was someone like Ami to encourage me. And besides that, Ami was simply a ton of fun to be around. She was always laughing or making someone else laugh.

The phone rang, and I picked it up.

“Hey, Ami. You packed yet?”

“Packed? Are you kidding? We’re not leaving until 4:30 tomorrow. I’ve still got 24 hours.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why am I not surprised? Have you thought about what you’re wearing to the banquet on Saturday night?”

“No. What are you wearing?”

“I’m not sure. I was hoping you could give me some ideas.”

“How about your pajamas?”

I rolled my eyes again. Ami was certainly in a good mood. She was always in a good mood.

“Funny. Would the pink dress I wore to the Valentine’s dance or the glittery black one look better?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter that much. Go with black. Hey, are you coming over after the retreat?”

“For what?”

“The all-night game night, remember?”

“Oh yeah. I still can’t believe you’re having that. No one’s gonna last.”

“Oh, you never know. Hey, guess what — Yikes! Elizabeth, I’ve gotta go. My stove’s on fire!”

Before I could say anything else she hung up.


Friday afternoon I stood in the church parking lot. It was rainy and cold. Members of the youth group were huddled together near the spot where the buses were supposed to be. I rubbed my hands together and scanned the area for Ami’s dark ponytail swinging through the crowd. It was 4:45. She wasn’t normally this late. As soon as the buses arrived, we were leaving. Ami, hurry up, I thought. The last thing I wanted was to spend a cold, rainy weekend without my best friend.

My cell phone rang, and I grabbed it out of my purse.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Mom. Ami just called. She can’t make it.”

“What?”

“After she called you yesterday, she started throwing up. She isn’t feeling well today. She said to tell you she’s sorry, she loves you, and they got the kitchen fire put out. It started when Brandon put some papers on the stove.”

“OK, thanks. Bye, Mom. See you Sunday.” I punched the “End” button on my phone and shoved it in my purse. Why did Ami have to get sick right before the retreat? We’d been looking forward to this for weeks.

I sighed. This weekend didn’t look like it was going to be much fun. I had no idea how bad it was going to get.


The bus pulled back into the church parking lot at 5 p.m. on Sunday. I’d dozed off and was nudged awake by Aria, the girl sitting next to me.

“We’re here,” she said. I mumbled something and grabbed my huge duffel bag. I was exhausted. The weekend had been cold and rainy, I’d missed Ami a lot, I’d hardly gotten any sleep, and I was in a terrible mood.

I went into the fellowship hall. Mom was standing there, holding her sunglasses and looking nervous. I was too cranky to care. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Honey. Here, I’ll take your bag.” Mom reached out and took my bag from me. I was a little more alert now and didn’t remember ever hearing Mom’s voice sounding that anxious.

“Mom, are you OK?”

“Follow me,” she said. She turned, and I followed her to the car.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Wait till we get to the car,” she said sharply.

Mom reached the car quickly, threw my bag in the trunk and got in the driver’s seat. I climbed in front. After we were out of the parking lot, she took a deep breath.

“Ami died last night.”

Shock washed over me in a wave of ice and fear. “What?!”

There were tears in Mom’s voice as she said, “Ami started feeling better yesterday. Last night she was driving home from eating dinner with a couple of friends when a truck ran a stop sign and hit her car. The driver was intoxicated. Ami’s car was crushed. She had three surgeries at the hospital, but it was too late. Aunt Becky and Uncle Rick decided to take her off life support this morning.”

My throat constricted as pain coursed through my body and into my heart. This is not happening, I told myself.

I stayed in bed that night, thoroughly exhausted, but unable to sleep or cry. Pictures of Ami and me together kept playing through my mind. I could see us at camp and at church. I remembered my last birthday, when we went to a hotel, swam, ordered room service for dinner and then went to breakfast the next morning in our pajamas. I was in physical pain as I remembered our last phone call — when she had to hang up because of the kitchen fire.

God, why did You let this happen? I thought angrily. You could have stopped this. You could have let Ami come out of surgery OK. You could have gotten the truck driver fired a month ago so that he wouldn’t have even been on the road last night. You could have let her not get sick on Friday so that she could’ve come to the retreat this weekend and she wouldn’t have been on the road! I flipped over on my side, my mind not at all eased by my angry accusations at God.

Elizabeth. I recognized that voice, but I was angry and in no mood to listen to it.

“Go away, God.”

Elizabeth, please listen to Me.

“Don’t you get it, God? I trusted You, and You let Ami die!”

Isaiah 55:9.

“God, I know Your thoughts are higher than my thoughts and all that, but this was just plain stupid! What was the point in letting Ami die? She was such a girl after Your heart. She could’ve been such a light for You!”

Elizabeth, I know you’re hurting. I can feel your pain. But you need to trust that I have a plan.

“Whatever. If You felt my pain, You wouldn’t have let her die. I trusted You to have a plan before this, and look what happened.”

Elizabeth, please, listen to Me.

“Just go away, God! I’m tired of listening to You and getting hurt.”


I stared straight at the pastor. I wouldn’t look at Ami’s casket. I wouldn’t look at the flowers. I didn’t want to look at, hear, touch or smell anything that reminded me that Ami was dead. I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut against the pain. This was not fair. This was not fair at all.

“No, this is not fair.” The pastor’s words startled me. I listened a little more carefully as he continued, “This is not fair at all. It’s not fair that such a beautiful young life was taken so soon. But God never promised us that life would be fair. He never promised us tomorrow. What He promised is His faithful love, support, comfort and hope. And that is a promise we must have faith in.”

I shook my head. The promise seemed unreal. Nothing could heal the pain I felt. Not even God.

I stared out the window as our car headed home. After the short graveside service we’d spent an hour with Aunt Becky and Uncle Rick. This is the worst day of my life, I thought. All I wanted was to lie down on my bed and sleep forever.

The pastor is right, I thought as I trudged into the house. This is so, so, so not fair. I stopped in the kitchen and stared at the clock, shaking my head and biting my lip. It was 4:58. Ami should be calling me in two minutes. I ran into my room and curled up on my bed, unable to do anything but cry. The tears flowed faster as the digital numbers switched to 4:59 and then 5:00.

I stared at the phone by my bed. There was no ring. There never would be again.

I lay under the covers, battling the unwelcome but familiar mix of miserable restlessness and exhaustion. I was more upset than I had been in the last week, and for the first time, I felt the true weight of what had happened come crashing down on me.

I’d lost my favorite cousin and very best friend. My heart ached with the pain of knowing I’d never see Ami again. I’d never felt so alone.

Elizabeth. This time I didn’t ignore the voice. I was in too much pain and too desperate for something to relieve it.

“I’m listening, God.”

Elizabeth, I can help you.

“I know.”

You’re going to have to let Me, though.

“I’m ready.”

It hurts Me when people die, because I know their deaths hurt My children. I’m sorry, Lizzie, but there are consequences for sin. The man who killed Ami was drunk. Someone sinned, and someone died.

“But why couldn’t it have been the drunk driver instead of Ami?”

Lizzie, it wasn’t a matter of someone having to die. It was a matter of sin and its natural consequence.

“I still don’t see why Ami had to die.”

You can’t know everything, Lizzie. But remember that I have a plan, even though you may not understand it. Something good can come out of Ami’s death. For you to really heal, you’re going to have to accept that Ami’s gone, and I’m in control.

I bit my lip. How could I let go of this pain? Then again, how could I not? I couldn’t let grief ruin my life.

“I think I can do that, too, Lord.”

Good. You have no idea how much I love you and how much I want to comfort you.

I sniffed. This was hard. But I could feel God’s arms wrap around me. Peace and comfort flowed through my body as I truly relaxed for the first time in days.

“I love You, God,” I whispered into the darkness. I could feel His response as He whispered back, I love you, too.

I love briomagazine!!!!!!!!!!I have a subscription with them!!!!!

Oh my word... that almost made me cry. That is soo sad. My cousin is my best friend too, and I don't know what I would do if I would ever have to lose her! It's so true, though, God's promises will always stand true. He always has a plan, even if we don't understand it. That's a lot like what I wrote the devotion about yesterday. Thanks for posting that.

Your welcome!
My cousin is my best friend too and I coudln't ever imainge that happening to her, I was at the point to where I was alomost going to cry too.

Well, i don't have a cousin, but I do have a few best friends and I love you guys. Molly and Darla when you read this know that I love you guys and I am so thankful God let us cross paths. Emily K.

Aw Emily, I am so thankful that God crossed our paths like He did too! I don't know what I would do without you and Darla and the rest of the girls. I love you guys!

Awweh man, that's soo sad. I was actually tearing up. Oh my. Thank you for posting that.. that's soo true. =(