Tuesday, November 3, 2009

That kind of friend

(Can you believe I made her wear a crown at her farewell feast? Don't you love her for humoring me?)

Dear Amy,

A couple of years ago, when we were still in Provo, my long-time friend, Kate, was over. After watching her help herself to some milk in my fridge I looked at Taylor and said, "I love friends like this. I love that Kate is comfortable enough here to do that."

When we left Provo I was fearful about a lot things. Friendship was one of them. I worried that I would be sad without my friends and that I wouldn't be able to find that sort of friend in my new home.

My first Sunday in church I sat in the mothers' lounge and nursed my little chub-a-lub, Rog. You were there, in lavender, nursing your babe. You have one of those sweet countenances. The type of peaceful smile that tells someone like me--she is a really nice person. (I don't have one of those faces. I notice those that do.) And I wanted to be your friend.

Not long after, I came to a mommy&me day at the park. You were there, protecting your darlingly freckled skin with your fabulous sun hat. You had three kids in tow, but didn't seem to be frazzled. I watched you patiently mother and gracefully socialize. And I wanted to be your friend.

The other day you came to pick up your children after their busy session of playing pirates at the blue house. You were in the middle of packing and cleaning and sorting and...ugh. It makes me tired just to write it. But you looked at me, and, as I told you about my needful preparations before the big oral surgery day, you looked around for a job to do. And then it happened. You went looking for my broom and--finding it--swept my hideous kitchen floor.

After you and your darlings left that day (what I knew to be the last time I'd see you dear Hills walk through that threshold), I thought of you and that broom. And I realized. You'd become that kind of friend.

Oh, dear Ame, I miss you already. I didn't think I could cry anymore about it, but writing this makes it bubble over yet again. We will not be the same without you. Thank you for being my friend.


1 comment:

The Fool on the Hill said...

Thanks. I cried. I'm so lucky to have known you.