Best friend

I realized yesterday that for the 20 months after the stroke my mom wasn't just my mom - she was also my best friend.

Before the stroke was different. Even though I never lived more than two hours away I would only visit every few months or so. We'd talk on the phone occasionally, at least once every two weeks, but often it would just be quick conversations and logistical questions. Nothing too deep and meaningful. 

After I graduated college we started to get closer. She took this class about justice and started reading books I'd read - The Powers That Be by Walter Wink and Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger by Ronald Sider. We'd have conversations about social justice, and she shared about wanting to do more justice work in her life. We were starting to have the same interests and the worldview, and I felt like I could finally talk to her about stuff I cared about. 

She supported me when I started therapy. She helped me decide to go in the first place, and she was the person I called when everything felt hard and confusing. For the first time I was really confiding in my mom - we were becoming friends and confidants. 

And then the stroke happened. And I spent as many days as I could by her side in the hospital. I would drive out every afternoon to spend time with her. On weekends I would stay overnight with my dad, in the RV he was using, so I didn't have to drive back and forth so much. 

She was my first priority - other relationships didn't matter, other plans were put on the back burner or canceled all together. I wouldn't always answer the phone for my friends, but I would always answer for her (well, really my dad, since she couldn't dial the phone herself). 

And then when she was back in San Jose I visited at least once a week, sometimes more. I spent more time with her than I did with anyone else (except my dad, and that was only because he stayed up later than my mom's nine o'clock bedtime). 

I would do things with her that I would normally do with friends - I would tell her about work, and adventures I had. I would bring her presents whenever I found something that reminded me of her. I would show her all my thrifting finds. I would ask her advice on outfits and shoe choices. I would make her meals and desserts, and celebrate my holidays with her. And I would tell her how I was doing, which often involved crying with her and laughing with her. We had inside jokes, I translated for her, and when people came over we would commiserate together as introverts who needed some quiet. 

And then there were the things that made our relationship even closer, closer than friendships ever are. I would take her to the bathroom and help her pull her pants on and off. I changed her diaper and wiped her when she couldn't stand anymore. I gave her injections in the mornings and spoon-fed her applesauce with medicine when she stopped being able to move her own hand. I picked out outfits for her and helped her put everything on, down to her underclothes. I picked her up so she could move from chair to wheelchair, and I almost dropped her at least once. I painted her nails, I brushed her teeth, and I gave her her meals on a tray. 

We were really close. Closer than I'd ever been with her. Closer than I've ever been with anyone. And now I have this giant hole where all the time I spent with mom, was thinking about mom, was praying for mom went. And I have this giant hole where my best friend used to be. 

I lost a mom and a best friend at the same time. It's no wonder it hurts so much.