My Best Friend

I have a friend.

A best friend.

Or BFF, if you prefer.

She is fiercely loyal.

Supportive.

Encouraging.

Kind.

Fun.

Believes in me.

And I nearly missed out on gaining that friendship.

Let me tell you about it . . .

Many, many years ago, our family had just come through a very difficult experience.

Very difficult.

We were wounded and aching.

This woman, a single mom, called me to see if I was interested in babysitting for her.

She had two adorable little tow-headed girls.

I turned her down, with the excuse that I needed some time to heal.

I asked her to give me a year.

She was disappointed.

But understanding.

She gave me my time.

One year later, to the day, she called again.

This time, though still feeling less-than-whole, I accepted.

Reluctantly.

And her two happy little girls arrived.

Immediately, they mixed seamlessly in with my own kids.

Played the same games.

Ate the same food.

Watched the same programs.

Fought over the same toys.

Became two more members of the family.

Meanwhile, their hardworking and dependable mom gave me an insight into the life of a single parent.

Work.

Joy in her children.

And loneliness.

More and more, we invited her and her girls to spend time with our family.

We became friends.

Best friends.

That was over twenty-five years ago.

We were with her when she began to date her future husband.

Who became my Husby's best friend.

We were with them when they married.

And had two more little girls.

We are best friends still.

I often think about her request to babysit.

Given when I was feeling selfish and sorry for myself.

And how nearly I turned her down.

I might have missed this.