When my best friend, Abby, got married (to someone I absolutely adore, thankfully), I did what any self-respecting thirty-something with abandonment issues does: I binged watched Gilmore Girls and adopted their diet. If you think the fast-paced dialogue of that show is hard to believe, you should try living on Lorelei and Rory’s diet of pizza, ice cream and Twizzlers and expecting to look like them.
I missed her, sure. However, as I created my ever-deepening Sosha-shaped imprint on the couch, missing her morphed into my own special brand of masochistic scenarios of us drifting apart and my being replaced by shiny new Pennsylvania-based friends. In turn, this would cause us to get into huge fights – in my head.
Instead of telling Abby about how much I missed her and how untethered her move made me, I would just grow cold and petulant. If I detected even the mildest slight, real or imagined, I would try to push her away.
It was a vicious cycle perpetrated by two class-A weirdos.
Eventually, we worked it out. And, by worked it out, I mean had a craft-beer fueled, mascara-stained tear-filled heart to heart. In case no one has ever told you, being honest and vulnerable with those you love the most is much better than thinking you’re saving yourself heartache by being aloof and snarky.
Our friendship has matured and solidified over the past few years. Despite the physical distance between us, we have grown closer. And, that is why as soon as I was vaccinated, I knew that the first place that I would be going was exotic Allentown, PA.
We celebrated her birthday. I met some of her friends, friends that a couple of years ago I would have been wary of, would have been irritated about having to share “my’ time with her with them. But, I was genuinely happy to meet them. They were smart and quick-witted. They told fun stories and asked interesting questions. More importantly, I could tell that they genuinely loved my best friend. I knew that she was supported and respected by the people who were in close proximity to her. I realized that she was grand enough to share and what a gigantic ninny I was to have ever questioned her dedication to our friendship.
It made me not only happy for her, but it also made me feel an even closer bond to her. Sure, I would love for us to live down the street for one another, where we were casual fixtures in each others homes and could meet for drinks on a Wednesday if one of us were having a crappy week. I wish she could teach Conley to bake and give my husband, her honorary “bubby”, some good-natured grief. But, that’s simply not the case.
Fortunately, our friendship has withstood one of the ultimate tests – distance. It has settled into such a warm quilt of ease and trust. We understand that there will be others in our lives, others who we are close with, but we will remain secure in who we are to each other.
I am so fortunate to have the best friend that I do.
Here are some of the reasons why:
- She is my person.
- She knows what books I’ll love and what books I will loathe.
- She appreciates my special brand of masochism.
- She gives the best hugs.
- She loves quirky coffee mugs and soft t-shirts.
- She bakes delicious cakes.
- She lets me be an a**hole from time to time and doesn’t hold it against me.
- She suffers my bits.
- She loves me even when I am at my most unlovable.
- She takes Conley on Red Lobster dates.
- She loves my husband and he loves her.
- She eats the red Lifesavers out of my pack.
- She is my favorite movie date.
- She allows me to be vulnerable.
- We’re both avid readers but rarely like the same books.
- She has a smile that spreads across her face and makes her eyes dance.
- She’ll drive in New York City.
- She loves Chico Sticks and opaque tights and craft beer.
- It makes her feel weird when I write about her but I do it anyway because she needs to be shared.
- She is one of my biggest heroes.
- She is one of the most trustworthy and loyal people I have ever met.
- She offered to drive back from Myrtle Beach.
- She was wearing a retro Wonder Bread t-shirt when she brought enchilada casserole after my mom died (it looked like something my mom would have worn).
- She forgives me…even when I am a total asshole;
- She has a wicked and dry sense of humor.
- She hums to herself – all the time;
- She just held onto me at the end of Fruitvale Station.
- She doesn’t like butter on her popcorn.
- She glows warmly after three vodka sodas.
- She left the warm confines of her family the day after Thanksgiving to make a snowy drive to attend my little brother’s funeral.
- She does a mean Roger Rabbit.
- She cannot be outworked.
- She calls me on my bullsh*t.
- She is beautifully complicated.
- She loves swimming pools (like really, really loves them).
- She ran a marathon with me.
- She is one of the finest huggers in the known universe.
- She is my “Iron Lady”, but she has one of the most tender hearts ticking.
- She has passionate beliefs in equality and justice.
- She will babysit for tacos.
- She is so incredibly smart.
- She believes in me and I, her.
- Our days and nights in NYC and Vegas are some of my all time favorite memories.
- She is my sounding board and my shelter.
- She gently reminds me when I need to extend grace.
- She is my home and I carry her with me everyday.
Abby is hot coffee and cold beers and great movies and comfortable couches and ocean breezes and warm blankets and sunsets over the Appalachians and perfect days in New York City.
She is my favorite things!
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Soshally Awkward
Sosha Lewis is a writer whose work has been featured in The Washington Post, Huffington Post, MUTHA Magazine and The Charlotte Observer. She writes about her sometimes wild, sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking past filled with free-lunches, a grimy sports bar, a six foot tall Albino woman who tried to save her teenage soul, felonious, drug addicted parents, an imaginary friend named Blueberry and growing up nestled in the coal-dusted mountains of West Virginia.
