“You changed,” she said hoarsely. “You changed a lot, Shulamis.” I stared at her, not knowing what to say

The next few days are bittersweet for me. Bitter — well, obviously. Pinny had been a joy to have around; a pure, vivacious soul, whose sand clock ran out of sand too early for us to fully appreciate him. Miriam’s house felt different without his constant chatter and jumping around and singing and flying about.

Sweet — because I had Miriam back. Miriam was my best friend. We’d been through a lot together, and after years of her being my support system, I finally had a chance to pay her back.

We spoke, and we were quiet. She cried; I cried. A lot of emotions were processed in those few days.

“You are so brave,” I told her one evening. I really meant it. Miriam was unbelievably brave; with all her pain and sorrow, she kept strong for her parents, for her siblings, and for herself. She was full of emunah, despite the pain she was in. I was inspired by my friend as I watched her answer with patience and respect all the questions visitors asked her, which some of them didn’t deserve after saying insensitive things that made me want to throw them forcefully out of the room.

Once, during a lull in visits, Miriam raised a red pair of eyes to meet mine, and after a long pause, she spoke.

“You changed,” she said hoarsely. “You changed a lot, Shulamis.” I stared at her, not knowing what to say.

“When I left, you were so… unhappy,” Miriam said, struggling with the words. She was never a person of words, but I understood her. “You were just so — unhappy, upset at everything….”

“And now?”

“You changed, you became stronger somehow,” Miriam said. “Happier.”

I smiled. “Thank you,” I said softly.

“You are amazing,” Miriam then said, barely above a whisper. “I wish I would have the courage to change like that.”

I remained silent.