Facebook should have killed the high school reunion years ago.

So why do some people, myself included, still show up?

For those of us who came of age when a "friend" was someone you primarily saw in person, the advent of social media made it easy for us to reconnect with long-lost classmates. With a few clicks, you could see how kindly (or otherwise) the passage of time had treated someone.

Of course, social media often presents a version of life that may be a slight distance from day-to-day reality. But curiosity and comparison aren't reasons enough to face your adolescent memories in real life. This might be, though: Reconnecting with those who have known us through our journeys can be a boon for our mental, emotional and physical health.

Reconnecting with old friends has well-documented benefits: It lowers stress, anxiety and loneliness while lifting mood and feelings of connection and belonging. And spending time in person with those with whom we have a strong emotional connection offers an even greater boost than any digital connection.

Think of how you feel when you come across a social media update from an old friend. It may bring a momentary smile. A text exchange is more engaging and enjoyable. A phone call adds the benefit of a human voice with tone and expression. But sitting with someone -- making eye contact, responding to body language cues, comforting and supporting one another -- is an entirely different experience.

I have a spotty record with my own reunions: I skipped the 10th because I was hugely pregnant, attended the 20th and missed the 30th. This is partly because I graduated from a massive suburban high school in Texas with a senior class of around 800 students.

A small fraction of our class showed up at the 20th, mostly the popular kids. I was never part of that crowd. I had made sure that a few people from my friend group were also planning to attend. We went to dinner, reminisced about old times and caught up on one another's lives.

Mostly, we laughed.

Those encounters led to something extraordinary. I realized how resilient certain bonds are, regardless of the vagaries of time. It also reminded my friends and me how much we had grown and survived. Just like in high school, we didn't need the big crowd to have a good time.

If you are with your people, that's enough.

Several years after that reunion, one of my dear high school friends unexpectedly lost her husband. A small group of us flew from different parts of the country to be with her.

Another six years went by before we found a reason to meet again: That friend was getting remarried. But last summer, right before the wedding, I tested positive for COVID, and the other two friends had their flights canceled due to airline disruptions. We had to postpone our mini reunion.

A few months ago, one member of the group texted the rest of us and suggested trying again. It was the nudge we needed. Within days, we managed to nail down a weekend that worked for everyone and bought our tickets.

Last month, we met in Boise, Idaho, at one of our friend's homes for a long weekend of hiking, talking, eating and drinking.

Mostly, we talked.

Even though we've seen one another just a handful of times over the past 30 years, their company felt so comforting and safe. We could share troubles, offer counsel and make fun of each other like we did as teenagers -- but with a lot more grace, compassion and wisdom.

It felt like reconnecting with a part of myself.

We're getting to a point in our lives when we realize how quickly it all goes by and how dramatically life can change in an instant.

Maybe we all needed this reminder: If there's a person whose friendship you valued in high school, and you've lost touch, reach out and tell them. If you've stayed in contact via social media or texts or occasional phone calls, but haven't actually seen each other for years, make a plan to meet now.

Time is precious.

Friendship even more so.

"What if we take a road trip to Las Vegas?"

Robert Haubrich of Valley Park, Missouri, posed the question to his 19-year-old daughter, Bailee, earlier this spring -- completely out of the blue.

They could head to Los Angeles after that, he said, then maybe Seattle and end up in Canada.

Bailee thought he was joking. The farthest west they had ever driven was Kansas City.

"What are you planning?" she said.

Haubrich, 53, had no plan. He just knew he and his daughter had to get out of west St. Louis County, where they were staying with his in-laws, and that they weren't ready to go back home yet.

His wife and Bailee's mom, Susan, had died suddenly of a heart attack at their home in January.

She was 48.

Susan was the backbone of their family: a stay-at-home mom, her daughter's best friend, her husband's rock of 26 years.

She died within a matter of minutes. Her death upended their lives.

Bailee took a leave of absence from her pre-med studies at St. Louis University. Haubrich, a banker, began experiencing chest pains himself -- from stress, anxiety and grief -- and took a medical leave from work.

He had no idea what their lives would look like without Susan.

Maybe they just needed to head west.

"Let's go," Bailee said.

A few days before her death, Susan had told Bailee to look out for blue butterflies.

"When you see one, you're on the right path and everything is going to be OK," she'd said. Bailee recalls the moment when she was looking at urns to hold her mom's ashes. She was still in shock, devastated and reeling from raw grief.

In the showroom, there was an urn with a blue butterfly on it.

Susan had told her husband that her dream, after he retired, was to buy an RV and drive across the country together. So Bailee and her dad packed their Nissan Rogue to the brim and took Susan's ashes with them.

"We needed to figure out if we could survive on our own without Susan," Haubrich said.

He and Bailee got on the road without a single hotel reservation. Their only goal was to drive until they got tired and pull over to see any sight that grabbed their attention.

So many places drew them: Sedona, Arizona; Moab, Utah; the beaches along the Pacific Ocean. And over and over, they would run into the same image -- in a painting hanging in a cafe, on a postcard, or fluttering nearby: a blue butterfly.

"There were multiple times when I felt like she was right there with us," Bailee said.

And, for the first time since Susan died, she and her father could really be present for each other. Before the trip, they had been so wrapped up in their own grief, but on the road, they reconnected.

Every day, they saw something new. They shared moments of awe -- in the desert, at the mountains and by the ocean -- and they made it through unexpected turbulence along the way. Once, they drove for miles through Yellowstone National Park only to realize the road ahead was completely shut down. They just turned around and drove back. They survived a surprise hailstorm. In Spokane, they saw a sign for a Journey concert that evening. They bought tickets right before the show began and watched one of Susan's favorite bands. How fitting that their journey led them to her Journey.

The lack of a set plan or agenda offered them freedom. Bailee realized they could still make memories together in honor of her mom.

Their road trip ended up taking them 8,265 miles, into two countries and across 14 states, over 25 days.

After Susan's death dismantled their previous plans, the father and daughter learned together how to find joy on their new unmarked path.

They are still figuring out how to navigate life without Susan and deal with the constant grief.

But they say they feel like they've gotten a message from her: You're going to be OK.

Zara Daugherty, 6 years old, was talking to her therapist about a difficult subject in her life: her relationship with her father.

The therapist suggested that they write a story and draw pictures to help her work through what she was feeling, so Zara wrote about a time when her father didn't show up to spend the day with her when he had promised to. She illustrated it with a picture of herself waiting on the front porch.

On the drive home from therapy, Zara told her mom, Mia Daugherty, about the little book she'd made. Mia asked her how she felt about it.

"Mom, I want to write a real book," Zara said. Mia assured her it was a real book, but her daughter objected.

"No, Mom. I want my book on Amazon, and I want my picture on the back."

Mia was worried about the pushback that might come if her young daughter shared such a personal story. She suggested writing about a less sensitive topic: What about a book on what her perfect day with her dad would look like, or about an adventure she and her mom had together?

But Zara insisted that her book had to be for other kids like her -- hurt by a parent's broken promises. Her mother relented. She contacted a children's author, who connected her to an illustrator. She created a GoFundMe to pay the illustrating and publishing costs.

A year later, Zara's book, "Broken Promise," came to fruition.

Zara, who will enter third grade in the fall, had a book signing party on her 8th birthday in May.

"I wanted to have my own story," she said. The book combines different real-life experiences and describes how Zara dealt with her sadness and anger on a day when she waited for hours and her father failed to show up.

She said her therapist taught her various tools she could use to deal with her emotions, like taking deep breaths or squeezing a toy. In her story, she screams into her pillow, which was another strategy she had learned in therapy. The story takes a happier turn when her mother plans an outing for Zara with her grandfather and uncle.

Mia said she learned over the years to have a Plan B in place on the days her daughter expected a call or visit from her dad, just in case.

Cheri Tillis, CEO of Fathers and Families Support Center in St. Louis, commended Zara for putting her story out there to help other children -- and possibly even their fathers. The nonprofit offers fathers parenting classes, legal services, employment workshops and counseling to help them be more involved in their children's lives.

Tillis points out that data shows children without an involved father are at greater risk for teen pregnancy, dropping out of school and other negative life outcomes. Some fathers of little kids might think their children are too young to remember or be upset by their absence, but they are completely wrong, she said. In fact, the disappointment and pain can be even more crushing for young kids, who can't yet understand and process situations like adults.

"Those unfilled promises can have a negative effect on a child's self-esteem," Tillis said. "They begin to wonder, 'Why isn't my father following through with these things he tells me? Is it something about me? What's wrong with me ... or (is it that) other things are more important?'"

Tillis said some fathers who are struggling financially feel they cannot see their child because they don't have money for gifts or outings.

"Being a dad is about the time spent," she said. "It's about having opportunities to bond and build the relationship ... It's not the money that children expect."

Other fathers, including those who are not married to the mother of their child, may not realize they have legal avenues to get visitation rights. That's a process the center helps fathers navigate.

I reached out to Zara's father to ask him about her book. Initially he said that he wanted to get "the truth" out about the situation. When I said I wasn't going to get into the contentious relationship between him and Zara's mother and just wanted his thoughts on the book, he didn't respond to further calls or messages.

Zara said she wants other children to know that it's still possible to have fun even though you get sad sometimes. Most importantly, "Don't let anybody get in your way of being great."

Wise words from an 8-year-old author.