We have so many friends with so many different personalities. They all need different things from us. Some need encouragement. Some just need someone to listen. Some want to laugh. Some want to bond over shared hobbies. And some are quiet and distant at times, but when you finally catch up with them, it’s like no time has passed at all.

But I have one friend who is a true example of what a selfless and kind friend really looks like.

My friend Melissa has been in a wheelchair for nearly 30 years now. I remember her from school. She wore braces on her legs and occasionally used a wheelchair, but we didn’t really know each other. She was older than me, so we never had classes together or crossed paths much.

Then Facebook mysteriously brought her into my life.

One of her doctors happens to be my cousin. Actually, she has multiple doctors, but one of them is my cousin. A few of her nurses are cousins of mine as well. It was interesting to discover how many mutual connections we had through school, family, and the medical community.

Over time, she started commenting on pictures of my kids and joining conversations online. The more I got to know her, the more respect I gained for her as a human being. Melissa lives alone and accomplishes more than most people I know despite her disabilities. She’s incredibly smart, but she lives with a disease that attacks her muscles.

Melissa has also experienced tremendous loss. She’s lost both of her parents and her brother, so she understands grief in a way many people don’t.

She also knew my brother Jay. I believe they may have even had classes together at one point.

If you knew Jay, you know he had a heart for people with disabilities. He earned his master’s degree and worked as a licensed speech-language pathologist specializing in American Sign Language and serving children with special needs. I’m sure that immediately gave him a soft spot for Melissa.

I think they talked often on Facebook, and I know she visited him many times during his battle with brain cancer.

I don’t talk much about Jay’s cancer because it’s still a difficult subject for me. When surgeons removed his tumor, he suffered a massive stroke and had to learn how to walk again. Because of where the tumor was located in his frontal lobe, many aspects of his personality and emotional processing changed.

Jay and I always had a funny relationship. There was endless sarcasm, teasing, and sibling banter. After the cancer, much of that was gone. Not only could he no longer make jokes the way he once did, but he also couldn’t process humor the same way.

Doctors explained why that happened, but it was still a period of grief for me. I felt like I didn’t really know him anymore. It was hard.

It changed the relationship between Jay and Gary, too. The things they had bonded over, their ridiculous sense of humor, their love of pranks, and their shared passion for music, shifted dramatically.

I don’t mean that to sound like it was Jay’s fault or that we were upset with him. We weren’t. We loved him deeply. It was simply difficult learning how to relate to this new version of someone we had known our entire lives.

He became more blunt and sometimes sharp-tongued. I’m sure much of it came from frustration over everything he was facing. Those were hard years.

I think Melissa was a light in the darkness for Jay at times. I think she gave him hope that he could still live a meaningful life despite the obstacles in front of him. She was also incredibly faithful about checking on him, bringing meals, and helping care for him.

For the first several years of his cancer journey, Jay lived in Mississippi, which made it difficult for us to be with him all the time. Eventually, we all ended up in Florida, and I was able to be more involved in his daily life. But during those difficult years, he was truly blessed to have friends like Melissa by his side.

I guess I said all of that to say this:

I am so thankful Melissa has been part of our lives for the last fifteen years.

She is a true example of what kindness looks like.

It’s not usually the big things. It’s the little things she does that make such a difference.

When Gage was stressed about passing his math classes, I mentioned it to her in conversation. A few days later, she mailed him a gift card and told him to treat himself to something special.

When Harper was struggling to make friends after we moved and was having a hard time with her self-esteem, Melissa sent her a necklace along with the sweetest note telling her how beautiful she was.

And today, I walked out onto my porch and found a big, heavy box at the front door. Inside were protein snacks and vitamin drinks, all because of a conversation we’d had a few weeks ago.

That’s just who Melissa is.

She’s thoughtful.

She’ll randomly send a candle, a painting, a Bath & Body Works spray, or some other little surprise just because she was thinking about someone else. She’s never once forgotten my birthday.

She has a way of making people feel seen, valued, and loved.

In a world where kindness often feels rushed or transactional, Melissa reminds me what genuine friendship looks like.

She’s just special.

And if I’m being completely honest, I try to do nice things for Melissa, too. We all do. It’s not out of obligation because I genuinely love her and want her to know she’s appreciated. But I’ve noticed something about her that makes her different.

Most of us tend to respond to kindness. Someone does something thoughtful for us, and we want to return the favor. There’s nothing wrong with that. But Melissa’s kindness seems to come from a different place. Her thoughtfulness is spontaneous. It’s constant. She isn’t keeping score or waiting for a reason. She simply sees people and thinks about how she can brighten their day.

That’s what makes her so special. Her mind naturally drifts toward encouraging people, helping people, and making people feel loved. In a world where most of us are busy thinking about our own lives and responsibilities, Melissa is busy thinking about everyone else.

🤍🤍🤍