To My Friend With Multiple Sclerosis Who Passed Away


Dear Friend, 

It has taken me a couple of months to write this letter, but I will try by best to speak out as much as I can, no matter how much it makes me cry. 

I knew you for one short summer — the same summer I got diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (EDS). It was too short in my opinion. But the talks we shared were long and personal, and through work, I made a friend.

I lost a lot of people last summer. From cancer to addiction, I said goodbye when I didn’t want to.

And then, I lost you. 

I was thankful the universe gave me you, a spunky, fun-loving 33-year-old with multiple sclerosis who told me stories about traveling and working hard for what you want. 

Then I became angry that the world had taken you back and left me to wonder how short life is. 

In October 2016, I boarded a plane for Europe. I bought the tickets while working with you and told you the minute I made plans. 

After my EDS diagnosis and losing you, I didn’t want to get on that plane. I didn’t want to walk anywhere, see anything or do anything. I was tired, emotionally and physically.

But then I remembered how you told me that you wanted to see pictures; you believed that I could live to the fullest, despite everything, so much that I wanted to believe it, too. 

You told me once you didn’t believe in God after fighting in Iraq and seeing everything you saw. I couldn’t argue with you, but I now wish I could go back and tell you I believed in you. And that I believe good people don’t come around too often enough. I believe in you and believe that God believes in you, whether you believed or not. 

I believe because you believed in me more than I believed in myself. 

I know I’m going to use the word “believe” a lot, but I believe that with your spirit, your genuine kindness towards people and because of the fact that you took a chance and believed in me, I believe I will see you again. 

And you’ll save the best seat in the house for me, and we won’t be battling these diseases any longer. 

I can’t promise any new medical breakthroughs by the time I see you, but I can promise you that I’ll fight just as hard as you did. 

We’ll be so healthy up there that we might not recognize each other. But I loved your spirit, and I’ll recognize your smile.  

Love You Forever,  

DB

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Lead photo by Thinkstock Images


Find this story helpful? Share it with someone you care about.