and a Request.

She doesn’t ever let me forget that I am older.  By five days.

We tell everyone we’ve been friends since birth because we have.

Well… except eighth grade when I hated her because she was dating the boy that I liked.  A point we laugh hysterically about now.

Once, she kung fu style kicked in a bathroom door in a bar.  She did it to rescue {and I use that term loosely since she was doing it of her own accord} our friend Sarah from flashing her boobs for a set of beads so they could win a scavenger hunt.

She is fearless.

She is hypercompetitive.

She is beautiful.

And hilarious.

The one you want in your corner when times are tough. 

She is one of my most favorite people in the world to sit with over a bottle of wine.  We can, and often do, laugh for hours.

She has been there for every major milestone in my life, our wedding, when Finn & Tate were born, right there by my side as besties do… sometimes just by phone holding my hand through the tough bits and the happy bits and the times I need her. 

She is thirty-five and she had a stroke.

A stroke.

I feel like if I say it enough, maybe it will sink in.  Because strokes aren’t supposed to happen to thirty-five year olds.  They’re not supposed to happen to daughters, to best friends, to fiancées, to amazingly vibrant women.  They’re not supposed to happen to anyone, but especially not to Jackie.

She needs every prayer, every good thought, every healing hope that you can spare.  Please.