A long time ago I lived next door to a woman who became my best friend. We saw each other every day. Our children blended into one large tribe. Even our dogs bonded.
We had husbands who worked nights and once they left for the evening, we spent ‘family’ time together at each other’s homes with our kids doing the things most regular families do. We’d have dinner together, watch TV, get the kids down, and hang out. Sometimes we’d leave the kids where they fell, sometimes we’d haul them back to their own beds. And whenever one of them shouted ‘Mom’ — both of us answered.
For over three decades she has been my alter ego. Her parenting style is relaxed and calm. She trusts life. She has faith. She knows how to let go. She flows like water and gently wears away at the obstacles in her life. Completely Yin to my Yang.
She was my rudder through so much all those growing up years. My co-parent. I don’t know how I would have survived all those years without her, truly. The Universe blessed me this woman at a time in my life when I needed her most. From the moment I met her, I knew, she was going to be my friend. I just didn’t realize she was going to be my forever friend.
We have been at each other’s side through all the storms of life and through many of the joys as well. I claimed to be her sister while I waited with her husband through one of her surgeries so the hospital staff wouldn’t throw me out of the waiting room. She was the named guardian of my children in my will. We baked kolachi cookies together every Christmas for decades. Our birthdays fall within weeks of each other. She made me a birthday cake when I turned thirty — it was the first birthday cake I had since I was twelve years old and my mother had died. We went to Jazzercise together.
I told my children once not to count their friends by quantity, but by quality. If they had a great good friend from each decade of their lives — they would be well and truly blessed. She is my Twenty-something friend.
We are in our fifties now and I know, I still can not survive without her.