I’m a coward, I admit it.
One of my best friends in the whole widest world moved away from Chicago over the weekend- and I was glad I wasn’t there. Lemme ‘splain.
This friend, one Bethany Hart, has been my Gal Friday (or Gal Wednesday) each and every time I’ve brought a newborn home from the hospital. After the parade of mothers and sisters had returned home, B would show up on Wednesdays at breakfast, staying until P.J. arrived at dinnertime. As a post-op, overtired, and more than a little overwhelmed Mama, knowing that she’d be there to handle things was a gift beyond giftitude. I’ve never doubted that my family loves me. But a friend who essentially gives up an entire day each week for the better part of a season (and sometimes even more than one day when she could sense that I wasn’t at my chipper bestest), is a rare and wonderful thing which ranks up there with narwhals and flattering skinny jeans.
But beyond waiting on me hand and foot, B’s the kind of friend that every female should have: We have inside jokes about trivia board games. She orders or fixes me drinks based on what she thinks I’ll be in the mood for- and she’s always right. And not only do we have the ability to non-awkwardly nap together, we’ve been known to do so at the drop of a hat.
She’s the very last of my Chicago friends to leave who knew me before my married and mommied life- and who really didn’t let the gargantuan shift affect our rather spectacular friendship.
So why am I glad she left before my return home?
Because I’m totally not capable of waving goodbye. So she- yet again- had to be the stronger adult and say goodbye to me before my summer vacation out east.
I’ll miss her Southern twang, charm, and recipe for chess pie. I’ll miss her patient assurances that everything- regardless of what it is- will be just fine. And I’ll miss afternoon lunches with kids crawling on our laps, rushing to get out complete thoughts before someone in my homestead needs something wiped.
We also frequently boated together. (At least that one time.)
Here’s my coping mechanism: I’m going to spend the next month or so pretending that she’s just a neighborhood away, as always. I’ll just assume that a ridiculously cool gal who can hold her own on any topic of conversation (while never ever making anyone feel lesser for not getting the reference) is still in Wicker Park- and certainly not being gorgeous and fun back in Florida on a new adventure.
In fact, that’s what I’ll do from here on out. At least until she comes back to dissuade me of this notion.
While staying over in my guest room for a long weekend.
She’ll probably even bring pie.
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