The cover picture is from a page in my amazing handmade-by-my-firstborn journal from 2012. It’s the page with the thank-you note I received from Kara. The note was written before the trauma and received after.

A few weeks ago, there was a facebook message reminding me of her love and sometimes prayers for me and of something she was going to leave for me on the porch.

Not long after, these amazing gifts arrived. Both handmade. By her.

Drinking coffee out of the mug today was a reminder of how grateful I am for Kara’s friendship. For her life.

Three years ago, this was the last bit of normal before the birth of her precious baby girl and the subsequent trauma that would take place just days later, resulting in the life-changing loss of her left leg.

Her baby shower took place that February. It was where I had the epiphany that it’s not personal. The Valentine’s story. It’s where she wrote prayer requests on doilies that were passed out to us, so that we could pray for her. None of the requests were about how she would adjust to the loss of her leg. None of us saw that coming.

Our story goes back to when she was my neighbor walking her dog, Ginger, down the sidewalk, often with a neighborhood child alongside of her. If the gate was open, Ginger would come running in, much to Coco’s joy, and they would play together.

We made small talk, connections, enjoyed each other’s company. That was back in the day when I was home with a preschooler, toddler, and infant and was always grateful for grown-up conversation and laughter.

She had a baby boy, and my firstborn girl sometimes babysat. We did play dates. I admired the garden in her back yard. She had another boy. I had a baby girl. We just fit.

Her family moved to the country.

Those were fun times. Me bringing three little girls to run around with the animals and to swing on the swings. She chasing her own boys. Both of us trying to grab bites of cinnamon roll and swigs of coffee amidst the demands of taking kids potty, deciding whose turn it was on the swing, or checking the hens for eggs.