Since Ingrid died, I have been struggling to make sense of her loss. I’ve cried, I’ve prayed, I’ve ranted, I’ve reached out, and I’ve withdrawn. And now, it’s time to accept.
There is no way to fully describe what Ingrid Wilhite meant to me. I know that I would not be who I am today, for good and for ill, if I hadn’t known her. And I know that she was among the very most meaningful and important people in my life. And lastly, I know that what she sparked in me, all those many years ago, burns as brightly now as it did when we met. That love, that connection, that lasting and redeeming friendship—these will be with me always, even though she is not.
I feel her effect on me every time I laugh at something inappropriate and devastatingly funny, every time I make the difficult decision to avoid something that isn’t good for me, every time I try to be more cool that I really am, and every time I joyfully accept love.
I love you, Ingrid Joy Wilhite, and I always will. I hope that I grow up to be half the human being you were.
-Caren Crockett
(With gratitude to Sauni Symonds and Lori Jensen.)
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