I first met Amy on a sunny morning in a high school parking lot. I was a stressed and exhausted graduate student trying to balance life. Amy was a new mom who didn’t blink about adding to the busyness of her life by supervising a student for an audiology practicum. In some ways, that summed up Amy: she was never too busy to love others. That one morning (which included one of Amy’s beloved Sonic runs—obviously) began a lifelong friendship.
She and her husband took me into their lives, making me part of the family, but when I had to move for my first job, Amy told me she’d let me go, that I shouldn’t hang on to the past, but that I should embrace my future in a new city. I was sad to say goodbye, but back then we didn’t have as many ways of staying in touch and Amy wanted me to move on joyfully.
Less than two years later, I moved back, and it was like we’d never been apart. There are friends like that—“riding bike friends.” Doesn’t matter how long you go without talking, the moment you see each other again it’s like you’ve never been apart.
All these years later, when she asked me to speak at her funeral, I told her I didn’t want to deal with this. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. In her humorous, tongue-in-cheek manner, she replied, “That ship has sailed, Jenn.”
Sadly, she was right, but I’m so glad for the time I got to spend with her in the end. I will forever be grateful for those last few precious hours.
There were many brilliant moments with Amy, painted in cheerful reds and yellows in my memory. I could go on for pages, but I don’t want to bury the nuggets of wisdom in reminiscing, so I will do my best to be brief.
Having been born with a congenital heart condition, Amy was no stranger to doctor and hospital visits, but unless you knew her well, you wouldn’t have known how poorly she often felt. I asked her if she’d ever thought of herself as sick or if she felt sorry for herself. She said early on her dad told her comparison would never get her anywhere. Some people have it way worse than you. And some people have it better. So, she decided she would not live afraid or waste time wallowing. She was going to live.
And live she did. Several years ago, when her need for oxygen became greater, Amy dragged that oxygen machine with her to church and even to exercise class. When I asked her if that frustrated her or made her want to stop, she said she wanted to stay in the best shape possible in case she got a new heart. She was always hopeful for the future, but more than that, Amy wanted to stay in shape to live every moment.
In the last few months of her life, Amy suffered, but her eyes were always on the Lord, trusting Him with every labored breath. When she got bad news from doctors, she’d say, “We’ll see what the Lord has to say about this.” Amy put her life in God’s hands and trusted that He would lead.
Even during her deepest trials, Amy’s thoughts were on others. As she was gasping for breath in the cardiac ICU, she posted prayer requests for the person in the room next to her. As she was facing the news that she was not a transplant candidate, she was visiting the dying man in the room next to hers, praying with him. When I asked her how she had the strength to think of others in such a hard time in her own life, she answered: “I just have so much joy from having Jesus in my life I want to share it with them.”
As the sun set on her final days, I asked her if she had the world stage for two minutes, what would she want to say? Here were her thoughts:
“Don’t be afraid to let Jesus lead.” She said she’d spent some time in her early adult life trying to “drive her own bus,” but she wished she’d trusted the Lord to lead all those years. As she struggled for another breath, she said, “Let Jesus drive the bus.” She went on to say, “His plans are so much better than our plans.”
“No matter what you are going through, having Jesus with you can make all the difference in the world. We hate to give up control over our own lives, but that control is just an illusion anyway. We need to get to the place where we realize we don’t have control in the first place.”
Amy loved. Amy trusted. Amy never stopped thinking of others. And Amy was all about Jesus.
Was she scared? Yes. The unknown is a scary place, and even though Amy believed what the Bible teaches about Heaven, getting there is scary. Dying of congestive heart failure is scary. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But she trusted God with her death as she had with her life. She did seek help from Hospice and made a plan with her medical team to keep her comfortable in those final hours, something for which those who loved her were so grateful.
On that last day she was conscious, I had the privilege of speaking to her privately for a few moments. Some of her last words were about how much she loved her family, how much they meant to her. And she was focused on getting home to Heaven, on the joy set before her. As a group of us gathered around her to say goodbye for the last time, she prayed over us. She prayed for us! For you. Even in death, Amy was all about others and about Jesus.
At the end of that last gathering, her husband caressed her face and asked if she was ready. Her death was inevitable. She smiled, nodded, and said, “I’m ready, but I’m not sure God is ready for me.” HA! That was so much like Amy, cracking jokes to the end.
Her husband remarked Amy was the color in his world, which was true for so many of us. Amy was a bright spot in a world of shadows, and she leaves behind a legacy of love, laughter, and lifting others toward Jesus. Her faith carried her to the end, and in the moment she took her last breath here, that faith became sight. And I imagine she heard Jesus say the words in Matthew 25:23, “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!”
We will all miss Amy, but like she did with me all those years ago when my job took me to another place, I must let her go for a time. But I take comfort. I will see her again, and it will be a “riding bike” moment where we will pick up where we left off and it will be like we were never apart. And I pray her legacy will live on.