Sunday, May 22, 2011

50 Day Challenge


A Picture of Your Best Friend

I have three best friends.
I have a ton of friends all over the country and world but I have three best friends.

One gave birth to me.
One gave birth to my Father who happened to play a small role in giving birth to me.
One I gave birth to.

(I am seeing a pattern here.)

On a more serious note, I read a lot of other family-type blogs and see over and over that people post that their husband or fiance is their best friend.
That isn't the relationship that D and I have. That's not to say that I don't consider him a friend but he isn't in my best friend category.
My definition of best friend is probably very different than other peoples.
I define a best friend as someone that provides unconditional love.
I may be very skewed (as Maury and Jerry Springer can attest to) in my belief that family is unconditional.
I do very much believe that though. There is nothing that Little O, my Mom, and my Grammie could ever do (or have done) that would make me stop loving them.
I can be angry, silly, stupid, a ditz, completely full of shit and yet, they still love me.
That is a best friend.


Little O/my Monster is my bestest best friend.
I have more fun with him than I do anyone else in the entire world.
If I was given the choice between a trip to Paris or repeatedly climbing a slide at the park, I'd take the park with Little O.
I like to think that our bond is much deeper due to being a single parent and raising him completely alone in Texas, but honestly, I think it has more to do with our personalities.
He is close to me the way Max is.
They remind me of each other and Max and I are perfect opposites in personality.
Little O and I can talk in our own version of language.
I love learning to see the world through the eyes of child.
It is almost like being given the chance to relive the past only with the experience and knowledge of how badly life can suck sometimes.
I am not sure I am explaining this so very well as it is a complicated emotion.
I think it boils down to joy.
Pure.
Simple.
Innocent.
JOY.





I cannot recount the number of times my Mother has bit her tongue (or not) as I made about 45840968590 bad style decisions over the years.
Take for instance the REALLY bad blue hair in the picture... and shall we not point out the shimmer pink lipstick.
And please, please don't recall the summer that I REFUSED to take off my baseball cap.
Yet, she still loves me.



And then there is Grammie who I treated extremely shitty as a teenager and made poor decisions, said and did things that very much hurt her but that last stint in the hospital with her proved to me that all was forgiven that that she was incredibly proud of me.

I overheard her talking to the Nurse about me and as I listened outside the door, I thought to myself, I hope I can live up to the person that she is describing.
I hope I can make Grammie proud.
When I walked in the room her face lit up and she just carried on talking about Little O and what I did for a living and how I went to Kenya and that I know how to sew and I have big garden.

For as much as she praised and loved me I hope, with all my heart that she knows that I was equally, if not more, proud of her.
I wouldn't be the person that I am today without her influence.

Tomorrow will be a rough day but I want to learn to celebrate her life rather than mourn her death.
I plan on watching the movies that used to makes us laugh so hysterically.
I plan on making her twice baked potatoes.
I plan on writing down some of the hysterical memories that I have before they are gone.
I plan on calling my other Grandparents to tell them how much I love them.
I plan on pulling out her rosary and thanking her for all that she gave to me.
I plan on reading the massive volume of emails that I have saved from her over the years.

One story comes to mind.
I had been moved into my dorm for about a week and I was SO lonely.
I mean, the type of lonely where you are ready to move back home.
My cell phone had broken and I had to use the pay phone in the basement of Read Hall.
She said she would call me on the payphone at 8pm so I sat on that cold floor, all alone in that creepy dorm basement waiting and waiting...
When it finally rang I screamed at the top of my lungs and probably had a minor heart attack.
But she talked to me and talked and talked and talked.
She never once minded that I sobbed as we hung up.
That's a best friend.


2 comments:

Elsa said...

Love this post! I agree, Mimi is my best friend as well. But I would still add Ali as my best friend too. We've been together for so long and been through so much, that even if we were to separate I would never stop caring for or loving him (and hopefully we would stay in touch and have a friendly relationship). I think someone could even hurt their family (parents), or their family could hurt them, and maybe they wouldn't speak as much, but the love and caring would still be there even if it didn't show as well as before.

Harris Family said...

Love you honey!
Hold on these next couple of days, it does get easier.
XOXOXO