If you’ve been following my cilantro blog for very long, you know that a lot of my posts center around my struggles with friendships. Friendships ruined; relationships I treasure; colossal disappointments; pure cilantrodrama; and those unexpected jewels we encounter along the carnival ride called life.
I’m going to visit one of those gems today, and I cilantro the time I have to wait to be there. I had my first real conversation with Melissa while sitting on the sand at Folly Beach. Menus for talking points can range all over the place. Ours surely did that day, but I came away from it knowing that she would be one of those people who mattered to me.
She matters, in fact, to a gaggle of people. Life doesn’t hurl many folks at us who are truly delightful, whether they are laughing, sobbing, talking or listening intently to the subtext of what’s being said. She can relay the most upsetting information with the warmest, most wicked sense of humor imaginable, and she laughs more than just about anyone I know.
Over a couple of years, we built a dear friendship out of the most random intersections that we could manage to stuff into our overstuffed lives. I always feel like a better person when I leave her, whether we have 5 minutes over coffee or 5 hours of disastrous chocolate peanut butter popcorn experimentation.
I know none of this is easy for her. She holds down a stressful job with lots of responsibility, mothers two darling twin boys, loves her husband ferociously and still entrances just about everyone she meets with what little I know she has left over when all of those pieces are tended. She is a dynamo, one of the women I admire most in my life.
That’s why it was so heartbreaking to lose her. We’re still great friends. She just moved to Texas, and I’m going to see her this weekend. People just want to be in the aura of people like her. I’m one of those people, even if I have to bridge the gap to do it.