I remember the moment we met. You sat next to me in one of our undergrad pre-req classes. You were so beautiful, the kind of beautiful most girls would be jealous of, but you were so sweet and I was in awe. You were funny without trying to be and something about you made me feel as if I had always known you. We became instant friends. What I didn’t know in that moment, is you were going to be one of my forevers.
I don’t know how the years went so fast, but they did, just as everyone warned they would. Somehow that was twenty years ago. (How are we old enough to have adult memories “twenty years ago??”)
We took a college graduation trip and made a lot of promises. We would take trips together for the rest of our days. We had no idea what life was about to be. We had no idea that life in your 40s is not quite the same as life in your 20s.
The night before I left for grad school, you drove five hours to surprise me to say goodbye. Around Thanksgiving you sent a cheesecake to my third story apartment, and it got stolen, just like an episode of Friends.
You were there for my weddings, both of them. You gave me unending grace when I told you I was leaving him, almost a year before I finally had the courage to actually leave. There was never an “I told you so,” even though you knew from the start, as you all did. But you loved me anyway.
You came to their first birthdays. Your her Godmother and you love mine as if they are your own.
The week you had surgery, I drove to you. I could only stay a day, but I had to be there to know you were okay.
Our friendship is twenty years, two divorces, and six kids deep. I don’t talk to you every day, but I wish I did. I wish I knew what was the best part of your kids’ day and I wish I got a chance to tell you an inside joke that only you would understand. Our friendship now is voice text messages and a phone call maybe once a month. You know I’ll never check my voicemails and that I’ll call you back eventually, even if it’s weeks away. That’s the reality of working moms that live states apart.
So today I wanted to remind you that I miss you. I wanted to tell you that when we do get to talk, I laugh until I cry. We don’t take the trips we dreamed at 22 that we would take, because now we are moms. (And neither of us would trade that for anything.) The reality of 40s is a far cry from the dreams of our 20s.
Friend, I love you even more than I did 20 years ago when you sat down next to me on our first day of the spring semester. You are one of my forevers. We are rarely in the same place at the same time, yet I know you’re somehow always here. Our limited weekends together now include zoo trips and a chaotic table for 10 at a restaurant, and by the end of the weekend we are more exhausted than when it started.
Regardless of the miles and the months (sometimes the years), we pick up where we left off.
I just wanted to remind you, you’re one of my forevers.
The sequel was my favorite 