Friends (Part Two)

Me and many of my girlfriends at my bachelorette party in Kansas City, September 2, 2010.

In addition to my mom’s friends who are really like second mothers to me, I have my own wonderful friends. Not all of them are women. Having a guy who isn’t family OR romantically interested in you worry about how you’re coping is a really interesting experience for someone who typically surrounds herself with girlfriends.

I’m used to being the worrier. I’m worried about everyone, all the time. I’m worried about my friends, their decisions, their boyfriends/girlfriends, their families, their jobs, etc. This isn’t to say that I’m a nervous wreck all the time. In fact, a lot of my friends are in great places in their lives, loving their jobs, newly married, and/or new homeowners. I’m excited for them! But I want their happiness to last. So I worry.

I’m not used to people (other than my mom) worrying about me. Or I should say, I’m not used to knowing about people worrying about me –  I’m sure people have worried about me my whole life (and I’ve given them plenty of reasons!) but it’s mostly been that quiet, observational worry that I have for my friends, where concerns are rarely voiced, and the worries  mostly come from hope.

Over the past month and a half (and before), I’ve experienced an amazing exhibition of love from my friends and their families. My family and I feel so encouraged and supported by all of the phone calls, texts, emails, and hugs. But it’s more than just support and encouragement for me. In a way, I feel like my broken heart has been spewing sadness, anxiety, loneliness and a little despair everywhere. My friends are applying pressure to this figurative wound by taking me out to movies or for drinks, calling to check on me, going shopping with me, or just hanging out with me.

My friends loved my mom. To them, she was a strong, independent woman who owned her own business, battled a terminal illness, and worked every day to be as strong as she could be so she could stay here with us for as long as she could. I think a lot of people really looked up to her.

Whether you’re for Nature or Nurture, my mother holds the key to half of who I am genetically, and most of who I am emotionally and mentally. I am who I am because of her. So much of the good is from her, and even some of the bad.

My friends love me. There is no doubt. I worry about exhausting them with my tears and anxiety, but I know that isn’t going to happen anytime soon. I know that if I’ve had a rough day, or a rough three days, all I have to do is scroll through my phone or Facebook, and there are a dozen or so people who would be happy to talk, go for a drink, watch a movie, or just sit with me. This knowledge adds security to my life, and is a reminder that not everything is bad or wrong.

Thank you for the love, hugs, and perspective, ladies (and a few gentlemen).