Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Reaching out is just not something we find we are able to do. Merry Katherine's best friend reached out by letter upon her graduation from The University of Tennessee complete with her current address, her new phone number, and a picture of her and her new boyfriend of the past 3 years (we have been out of contact for 6 years). This is a child we "loved on" almost as much as we did Merry Katherine, and she was like the sister that Merry Katherine never had. We probably got closer to her than we did to any other of her friends besides one or two precious friends who went all the way back to Kindergarten with her. Yet, when she wrote us, as thankful as we were that she reached out to us, we were both dumbstruck. We couldn't speak. We couldn't write back. We couldn't call. We just went catatonic. It was almost like having a little Merry Katherine standing before us, and we couldn't move.
What is this? We who are so gregarious and love people, cannot love the one person who has been the most loving to Merry Katherine? It makes no sense. It defies logic. It does not line up with who we are AT ALL. The emotional intensity we feel about this contact stirs up so much pain that we become inept, incompetent to reach out in love. Our reaction contradicts everything we would like to do, and of course everything this precious young lady deserves for being our child's very best friend and confidante. We really want to be able to keep up with her, but who we really want to be able to keep up with is Merry Katherine. And because we cannot do that, it just paralyzes us. It just seems cruel that we cannot see our own daughter, so how can we see anyone else who reminds us so much of her?