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Tuesday was her birthday. We have been friends for roughly forty-eight years. But who’s counting? Because seriously? Once you get past the third decade — no one gives a shit anymore. You KNOW you will be friends for the rest of your lives.
That’s all there is to that.
This woman is My Person. We forged our friendship in Hell-That-Was-Seventh-Grade-Homeroom all the way through Marriages/Kids/Divorces and Grandmother Land.
We’ve seen some shit. Let me tell you. We have survived by holding each other up — showing up — being there. Pain, grief, loss, illness, death — you name it. We have done it. Together.
We have done the yin of all it together as well. First dates, summers, karaoke, road trips, and birthday parties.
She was the first Human I ever got drunk with.
She showed up when Make-a-Wish gave my daughter a horse.
She never forgets my birthday — even though it’s the week before Christmas.
She was the only person I trusted to babysit my first child.
She came to visit me in the hospital when I had my appendix out.
She was the first person who followed me on Medium. And for the longest time — the only one who “clapped”.
