You know something I’ve noticed since Nicole died? People get really nervous about saying her name.

It’s one of those things I never expected. I think a lot of people are afraid they’re going to upset me. Like if they mention Nicole, I’m suddenly going to fall apart right in front of them. The truth is, I never wanted people to stop talking about her. In fact, I want the exact opposite.

Tell me the stories.

Tell me the memories.

Tell me something funny she did.

Tell me something ridiculous she said.

If you knew Nicole, you knew her laugh. That girl had a laugh that could fill a room and make everyone else laugh right along with her. Every time someone shares a memory, it reminds me that she was here. That she mattered. That she still matters. Sometimes I cry when people talk about her, but the tears aren’t because someone said her name. They’re because I love her and I miss her. There is a huge difference.

The funny thing is that grief teaches you a lot about friendship too. Not because you’re looking for lessons. More because life suddenly pulls back the curtain and shows you what’s really there.

Before all of this happened, I probably thought I had a pretty good understanding of friendship. Then life handed me a completely different education.

There were people I expected to stay in my life forever who slowly disappeared. Some of those losses were bigger surprises than others. Some hurt. Some confused me. Some taught me that not everyone is built for walking through hard things with you, and that’s okay. Not everyone knows what to say. Not everyone knows what to do. Some people simply back away because grief makes them uncomfortable.

At the same time, there were people who stepped forward and surrounded me with more love than I ever thought possible.

My sisters.

Not sisters by blood.

Sisters by choice.

The women who checked on me when I didn’t have the energy to check on myself. The women who listened to me ramble about Nicole for the hundredth time and never once acted like they’d heard the story before. The women who sat with me during some of the darkest moments of my life and never judged me for where I was emotionally that day.

Some days support looked like a visit.

Some days it looked like a coffee.

Some days it looked like a message asking how I was doing.

Some days it looked like sitting quietly together.

That’s one thing I’ve learned. Real friendship isn’t always about grand gestures. Most of the time it’s actually the small things. It’s somebody making space for you exactly where you are.

I always laugh when people ask what they can do to help someone who’s grieving. Honestly? Treat them like your friend.

That’s it.

You don’t need the perfect words.

You don’t need a psychology degree.

You don’t need to fix anything.

Just show up.

Come for coffee.

Send a message.

Share a memory.

Say their loved one’s name.

The people who have helped me the most weren’t trying to solve my grief. They were simply walking beside me while I carried it.

Now, let’s talk about asking for help because that’s still a work in progress over here.

I wish I could tell you I’ve mastered it.

I haven’t.

It still takes a lot for me to ask. And if I finally work up the courage to ask for help and someone can’t do it, even when I completely understand why, it can sting a little. That’s not about them. That’s about me being vulnerable enough to ask in the first place.

What I’ve learned, though, is that carrying everything by yourself is exhausting.

For a long time, I thought strength meant handling everything alone.

Now I think strength sometimes looks like letting someone carry part of the load.

The older I get, the more I realize friendship isn’t measured by how many people you know. It’s measured by who shows up when life gets hard.

The people who answer.

The people who check in.

The people who stay.

The people who help pull you back when you’re heading toward dark places.

The people who remind you that you’re not walking this road alone.

Those people are priceless.

And to my sisters, my chosen family, you know exactly who you are. I appreciate you more than you could ever fathom. Thank you for every visit, every message, every laugh, every hug, every coffee, every check-in, and every moment you stood beside me when standing felt impossible. I love you all more than you’ll ever know.

Besides, you’re family now.

And let’s be honest, you can’t get rid of me that easily. 😆

💛

Well, my friend, that’s what’s been on my heart lately.

Losing Nicole taught me a lot of things I never wanted to learn. One of them was just how powerful it is when someone simply stays.

Not because they have all the answers.

Not because they know exactly what to say.

Not because they can fix what’s broken.

Just because they care enough to show up.

The friends who stayed helped carry me through days when I wasn’t sure how I was going to keep moving forward. They reminded me that even in the darkest seasons, we don’t have to walk alone.

To every friend, sister, chosen family member, and coffee-delivering hero who has walked beside me over the last couple of years, thank you. You may never fully understand the difference you’ve made, but I do.

Thank you for pulling up a chair, sharing a coffee, and spending a few minutes with me today.

Now it’s your turn.

Who is someone who stayed beside you during one of the hardest seasons of your life? Have you told them lately how much it meant?

And if someone came to mind while you were reading this, maybe send them a message today. I have a feeling they’d love to hear it.

Until next time, keep showing up for the people you love, keep making memories, and keep finding those little moments that make life a little brighter.

We’re figuring this out one day at a time… together.

— Shelly 💛