No One Talks About Friend Grief

My beautiful friend Lisa was just 31 when she passed away from triple-negative breast cancer. She loved life more than anyone I’ve ever known. She had more friends than anyone I know, too, and somehow made each of us feel like we were her favorite. Lisa was a firecracker: bold, hilarious, and unfiltered, but also deeply kind. Her laugh filled every room, and I think that’s what I miss most, but honestly, there’s so much I miss.

I once heard that adult friendships are the ones you choose, not the ones you simply grew up with. Lisa was one of my best choices. Losing her so young — right when our lives were just getting started — felt especially cruel. Five years later, I still catch myself thinking of things I want to text her: a dumb meme, a random life update, something that would’ve made her laugh. Then I remember I can’t, and my chest tightens all over again. 

No one really prepares you for this kind of grief, the loss of a friend who shaped so much of who you are. We talk about family loss, romantic heartbreak, even losing a pet. But friend grief? It’s quieter. It hides in the cracks of everyday life.

Throughout her cancer battle, Lisa kept asking one question: “When can I fly again?” Even during chemo, surgery, and radiation, she dreamed of seeing the world with the people she loved. That spirit lives on through The Lisa Marzullo Fly Again Foundation, which honors her memory by giving women battling breast cancer the chance to experience life-changing trips.

Lisa’s story also reminds us that breast cancer doesn’t discriminate. It can affect young women — women with plans, group chats, and futures still unfolding. I talk about her, even when it hurts. Because keeping her memory alive feels like the only way to keep our friendship going. 

Ask Clara: How does breast cancer impact young women?