I’m going to get a bit more personal this week, but my hope is that you will all find a bit of universality in this post, and share it with anyone to whom it might apply.

A few weeks ago, I lost a very dear friend unexpectedly, and her passing brought the value of her friendship into even sharper focus. She was one of those sighted friends who took everything in stride, made mistakes and learned from them, and viewed me as her friend who is blind, not her blind friend. I want to write about her today. I hope you see some of your friends in her. If you do, take a moment to thank them for their friendship. We don’t say these things enough; I know that now.

Thank you for taking the blindness thing in stride so quickly. It took you a little time, but you saw me, not my broken eyes. You supported me while I learned this adulting thing, and hardly considered it “helping”, even when it was. I worried about that dynamic far more than you ever did.
Remember when I would text you with all those blindy emergencies? You made living in a new city, a new neighbourhood, a new building, seem not only bearable, but fun.

Thank you for being unflinchingly honest with me, always. You confessed, early on, that you took me to lunch that first time because you thought I seemed lonely, and felt a bit sorry for me. Once you realized that blind people aren’t hopeless by default, you relaxed into being my friend, not my personal Mother Teresa.
Remember all those times you were blunt about being unsure how to treat me? You were so open and so kind about it, even when it hurt a little at the time.

Thank you for learning from your mistakes, and helping me learn from mine. You had some false impressions about blindness, and you were eager to clear them up. You didn’t know how to guide properly, but you soon learned. You sometimes said things that cut deep, but when I pointed out why, you focused on healing the harm rather than justifying yourself. Most importantly, you helped me grow by clearing up misconceptions of my own.
Remember when you almost walked us both into traffic, then burst into hysterical laughter because the guiding thing was distracting? You were so glad I wasn’t upset by it. Everybody messes up sometimes; you rarely did.

Thank you for your outstanding sense of humour. You were always cracking jokes, once you knew I was okay with them, and you let me laugh at myself in total comfort and solidarity. You approached everything with a willingness to laugh at hardship, and move on.
Remember when you proclaimed yourself to be my “guide dog?” We named you Scout. You always bugged me about getting a dog of my own (only so you could have “snuggles on demand”) but this was as far as I got. Your “guide dog” gallop was legendary.

Finally, thank you for being so much more than my sighted friend. Thank you for considering me as much like everybody else as any disabled person can be. Thank you for treating me, with a very few exceptions, like Meagan, not like blind Meagan. Thank you for blossoming into everything a sighted friend ought to be.
Remember when I wrote that blog post about friendship, and you took the time to remind me, for the umpteenth time, that I was so much more than your blind friend? I do. I always will.

I hope every disabled person can have someone like you around to make them laugh; to prevent them from taking themselves too seriously; to remind them that they are normal in all the ways that matter; and to help them grow.

I love you, Scout. Rest easy.