When I
moved to the boonies, which some people call Montana, I worried that I wouldn’t
find a group of friends like I’d had in college. I didn’t need best friends; I
just wanted a group of young women I could share my ups and downs with,
exchange stories with, and help me grow in my year of finding myself.
I never
wanted to join AmeriCorps. My mother basically pushed me into it as I was
finishing up an internship at Seattle Business Magazine. Jobs in journalism
were scarce back in 2009 (ha, they are even scarcer now), and I decided to look
into giving back through a year of service.
AmeriCorps
VISTA (Volunteers in Service to America) sounded like an adventure in learning,
team building, and creating sustainable communities.
It was
all of those things and more. It was refreshing to surround myself with
millennials who cared deeply about grassroots activism. It was inspiring to
work hard on advocacy campaigns around substance abuse/overdose and teen
pregnancy prevention. It was humbling to watch one community talk about the
hard stuff and then enact the changes needed to help.
By far,
though, the highlight of my year was the friendships I made. Friendships that
extend beyond the spending time together realm or camping together under the
stars in Butte for the summer folk festival, though those are lovely memories
as well. The friendships I’m talking about are the surrogate mothers who took
me under their wing, checked in regularly, and shared my successes and
challenges during that year.
Friendships
like my roommate during my AmeriCorps VISTA year, a local girl my age, who
embraced me into her family and town and never let me feel lonely.
Friendships
like my AmeriCorps VISTA supervisor, who was always there with advice, a
friendly smile, a hug, and a funny story. Though she worked out of Helena and I
was in Great Falls, we emailed regularly enough that I felt like I was in the
loop in her life, and she in mine.
At the close of my VISTA year, she asked me
to write a poem for our end-of-service ceremony… and deliver it in front of
everyone. That’s what she did—she capitalized on people’s strengths and then
pushed them to be the best version of themselves.
When I
moved to DC, we continued our email love affair. As pen pals, we shared our
hopes, fears, funny dating stories, bad job interviews, devotion to family, and
love of community service.
When I
traveled back to Great Falls last summer for the wedding of my former roommate
and only had part of an afternoon free, she drove in from Helena to meet me at
the mall for lunch and a shopping spree. I remember thinking she looked exactly
the same—upbeat, sarcastic, with that permanent smile sewn on her face.
For all
my big milestones, Abby was there, cheering me on.
When I
was ready to move on in my career, she sent me job listings. She didn’t
hesitate to serve as my reference. When I sent her dream jobs seemingly out of
my reach, she encouraged me to apply. When I got one, she shared in my joy.
When I
decided I wanted to go to grad school this year, she wrote me a glowing letter
of recommendation that got me into Johns Hopkins.
And when
I got engaged 2 weeks ago, she sent me the sweetest heartfelt congratulations.
Abby Zent
was always in my corner. She was a cheerleader for countless young people
starting out their careers in public service. She was a mentor and role model
for those who knew her well. The world is a better place because of Abby, who
devoted much of her life to helping others.
When I
learned of her passing, my stomach dropped and I cried at my desk for most of
the day. To lose someone so kind and inspiring at such a young age is a cruel
fate I will never understand. I still owed her a long email back from our
conversation last week. Her last email to me was happy, funny, and still
pushing me to join her volunteer trip to Mexico next year. For that, I am
grateful, as it embodies who she was: she was my cheerleader, my mentor, my
friend.
In her
honor, I vow to continue living up to the person she thought I was. And to
hopefully act as a mentor and guide to someone, someday, giving them the same
gift she gave me: confidence, ambition, and the faith that everything always
works out.
To my
friend: You have no idea how many people you have impacted with your meaningful
life. You will not be forgotten. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for
the chance to get to know you.