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Back in 2005, I met a young mother in my son's kindergarten class sitting with her daughter during orientation. She had the cutest, and sweetest little girl, and she and my son were one of the few black children in the room. They became fast friends, which made it only natural for us as their mothers to find time to hang out outside of school so they could play together. It was the start of a unique friendship.
Like me, she was a stay-at-home mom. She had an older son in the second grade, her kindergartener (the girl who was the same age as my son), and a baby boy who was only two. I say we had a unique friendship because outside of us being stay-at-home moms and black, we didn't have much in common. She was younger, louder, livelier and much more feisty, and I was not necessarily quiet, but calmer and less prone to partying. I admired her energy though, and how she never seemed to get tired, even with more kids than I had. She and her husband were in super shape too. Although my husband and I were still in our twenties, and in good relative shape, I remember we once attempted to race them to prove that we still had it, and got so left in their dust, we never tried it again.
We really should have known better. He was a professional trainer, who would eventually own his own gym, and she was an aerobics instructor who could dance like I wish I still could, but didn't have the nerve or speed.
There was only one car in their family at the time, so I used to go to her house and pick her up. She would call me and tell me she either wanted to come over and visit with me, or needed to grocery shop for her family. I couldn't remember "hanging out" with someone as much as I did her since high school. At times, it even felt to me that we had stepped back into high school. I took for granted the fact that she simply liked to keep company with me, and used to complain to my husband about her coming over too much.
The first time she rode in the car with me she felt comfortable enough to break wind. We laughed, and I played it off like I wasn't offended and told her it was ok, because we all do it. It was the truth, but I couldn't believe her boldness. Deep down, I guess I wish I had the same nonchalant boldness, but nothing in me would allow for that type of unabashed openness to being yourself no matter who was watching when I was that young.
From day one, she came by to visit on an almost daily basis. We'd let the kids play while we watched T. V., talked about what we were cooking for dinner that night, or our husbands and how we were with them before we got married. She had been with her husband since they were in high school, so although we were a few years older than they were, they had a much longer history together.
Some of the stories she shared about her past did more than intrigue me. I actually wanted to TRY the experiences for myself. When she told me that she and her husband had done ecstasy together, that very night, I went to my husband and asked how he'd feel about trying it with me. Her life made me feel as if mine was so cookie cutter. I lived to be who people expected, never having the nerve to step outside of the box and do the stupid things expected of young people. In a sense I envied her because I knew I wouldn't be brave enough to live freely as she did. The ecstasy conversation never went past a brief inquiry. There would just be no way either me nor my husband would have the gall.
I also admired the way she and her husband parented their children. To be perfectly transparent, I thought the way she reared her children was one of the few things which made her mature. Neither of them tolerated disrespect, they were consistent with their expectations, they fed them healthy home cooked meals nightly, and knew how to let loose and spend time playing games too.
I would never have told her for fear of hurting her feelings, although I'm sure it reflected in my attitude sometimes, but I always thought that her husband was the mature one in their relationship. To me, she seemed to be more a teenager trapped in a grown woman's body. Maybe I was just too prudent at the time, because instead of judging her, now as I look back, I wish I had absorbed more of her youthful energy and had a little more fun.
By the time 2008 came around, my family and I had been preparing to move up to Washington state for a 2 year project my husband had been assigned to lead. My young and energetic friend and I hadn't spoken in months. It was a misunderstanding, and as far as I can remember, it concerned things that would be considered so minor. When it was all said and done, I was retrieving my hot curlers she had borrowed months before, and she was asking for her Kirk Franklin CD back. I don't think we even argued. We just stopped talking, and I can blame myself for that. For some inexcusable reason, I thought myself to be too "mature" to continue putting up with her "ways.". Its crazy as I think about it now, and I regret it.
When we moved back to Texas in 2010 we ended up living in a whole new city than we were before, hardly paying visits to the old neighborhood. And when 2013 came, I heard she had been killed in a car accident. This was just six months after she had given birth to her fifth child. She was only just entering her 30s. My heart sunk. I never got the chance to say goodbye, and I was so stuck in my own ways, I refused to put forth the effort either. What a shame.
I poured through her Facebook pictures, looking at her as she grew into more of a woman, and watching her children grow from grade school age to adolescence. Her daughter, the only girl born to the family at the time I knew her, had grown to look exactly like her mother. I felt for the family. Here the father was trying to pick up life, raise five children, mourn the loss of his long time love all on his own. I could see sadness in his eyes, even as he smiled for pictures while embracing his kids. The puncture would developing in my heart grew. I should have been a better friend to her.
Now, the children we raised together in our little version of what I liked to call "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood," are all grown up. Entering into the early adulthood long behind us. I miss her. And when I want to see her again, and feel the energy she gave so freely, I sneak back to her Facebook page, and look at the younger version of her, still growing, alive and thriving; carrying on her mother's legacy with pride.
She did an excellent job mothering those kids. I pray for them, that they not allow this troublesome life to beat them down in her absence, but make her proud by propelling themselves forward in the direction of their dreams.
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