Besties
“She’s my very best friend,” my mother said. “Friends are very important.”
Other than Edie, her closest friend in grade school, I’ve never known my mother to have a girlfriend, let alone a “best” friend. She’s never been chummy with other women, a self-professed seeker of solitude. But finding a best friend in the very place I worried she would never adapt to?
Almost as startling as disrobing in the care home parking lot after our walk down the greenbelt yesterday.
Her acceptance of this new world continues to shatter my expectations. I worried she’d never join in. Last week, she led a gardening activity, helping other residents plant marigolds and marjoram. I worried she’d want to go back to Maine. Now, when I take her out to lunch, she can’t wait to return to her “house.” And her bestie.
Other than Edie, her closest friend in grade school, I’ve never known my mother to have a girlfriend, let alone a “best” friend. She’s never been chummy with other women, a self-professed seeker of solitude. But finding a best friend in the very place I worried she would never adapt to?
Almost as startling as disrobing in the care home parking lot after our walk down the greenbelt yesterday.
Her acceptance of this new world continues to shatter my expectations. I worried she’d never join in. Last week, she led a gardening activity, helping other residents plant marigolds and marjoram. I worried she’d want to go back to Maine. Now, when I take her out to lunch, she can’t wait to return to her “house.” And her bestie.
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