We've Had This Conversation Before

I miss writing.  I wonder how much I should say, like how annoyed I am at the boy's "illness", or even more, how annoyed at I am Momma.

OK - let's go.

About twenty years ago, I had a best friend named Christina.  I got a call one morning that Christina had been in a very serious car accident, and that the doctors weren't sure she would make it.  Would I come, her sister asked me.

Where the hell else would I be?  I got up and grabbed Momma's car keys (I didn't own one at the time) and got ready to go the hospital, full of fear.  Momma said to me, "You don't need to go.  This is something for her family, and they'll let you know."

Man, I got hot.  I felt betrayed by Momma - did she even have any friends?  Did she not know that my soulmate, the woman with whom I fought and loved more than many couples ever do, was maybe-no-ohsweetchrist - in surgery?

I just looked at her and got out the door.  I'm so glad I did, although the sight of my friend with a head swollen to double its normal size eventually brought me to my knees.

(I'm shortening this story - it's a tough one to tell - so please bear with me.)

I like to think I was an integral part of Christina's recovery.  While she was in the coma, the only voice she'd respond to was mine.  When she awoke, she would only do physical therapy exercises if I were in the room.

So when another close friend had a crisis a bit ago, and I had to shorten (I didn't really shorten it) a visit to my folk's place so I could take care of her, my Momma said, "Doesn't she have a mother?"

This friend is family.  I don't care the reason.  I don't care that she didn't need me after all.  But I am there, any time, every time.

Good news - both friends are fine, as far as I know (Christina and I no longer keep in touch).