I know about forgiving people and loving them anyway, even after they hurt you.

In the sea of grief, there were islands of grace, moments in time when one could remember what was left rather than all that had been lost.

Maybe time didn't heal wounds exactly, but it gave you a kind of armor, or a new perspective. A way to remember with a smile instead of a sob.

It was true; always had been. Friendships were like marriages in that way. Routines and patterns were poured early and hardened like cement.

Sometimes being a good friend means saying nothing.

You will always miss her. There will be days - even years from now - when the missing will be so sharp it will take your breath away. But there will be good days, too, months and years of them. In one way or another you'll be searching for her all your life.

Books + friendship = book club