The Bestest of Besties

I am going to try not to get too overly sappy or sentimental here. (Emphasis on the word try, because may not succeed.) I also don’t want to embarrass someone by writing this post. (Sorry, Liz, but surely you were expecting that something like this was coming?)

The truth is that I am a hurting puddle of emotions right now. I’ve been a bit shocked at the depth of my feelings lately, that for months I haven’t even been able to talk about this without my voice cracking and then starting to tear up (especially when I can talk about my mom or Kenny or other hard things going on right now). Because it’s not like anyone is dying this time! Yeesh, Suzanne.

So what life rocking change or event has there been in my life lately that’s turned me into such a blubbering baby? Something that really truly isn’t a tragedy? In fact, I’m even excited about the adventure and new opportunities it represents. Weird holding space for all of these conflicting emotions.

But it also represents yet another loss for me. Because my closest and dearest friend, the person who after Kenny and then my mom has been my biggest emotional support (and without whom I have never “adulted” before), permanently moved across the world to New Zealand today. And wow, have I been struggling and been so emotional about all of this (good grief, crying as I write this, even). It feels like one by one the universe keeps going down my “list” of important people in my life and then taking them away from me (I also have some other friends and close family members who will be moving away in the next few months). I’m confident that this wouldn’t feel so hard if I hadn’t recently had so many profound losses and heavy grief. It’s all coming up for me, though, and I’m fighting against this helpless feeling of drowning and even fear and doubt about if I can keep doing this, or if I can do it “on my own,” so to speak. That sounds awfully melodramatic, I know. I know this emotional state won’t last, and I do know I’ll be perfectly fine, but in this moment it feels really hard.

It never felt like an accident that Liz and I were paired together as blind roommates our freshman year at BYU. That above picture was taken just minutes after we had first met. It’s almost laughable how similar we were (and are). On this gem I recently rediscovered, it’s often hard to even tell who was who in the ridiculously hyper and hilarious commentary we were giving on our adventures through D.C. when she came out to visit me the summer after our freshman year. Listening to it again, we laughed so hard we were crying, couldn’t even speak properly.

I was so reserved growing up. As a military brat (yes, that is the proper term, and no, it is not derogatory!), I think I learned early on that either I or my friends were going to move away, and in a pre-cell phone or video call world I would lose touch and likely never see them again. I think I unconsciously held part of myself back as a sort of protective measure, not wanting to get too close and set myself up to be hurt again. While I had some great friends I didn’t fully open up to anyone (not even my family) until I met Kenny in high school. So it surprised me when Liz and I clicked so quickly, how much I trusted her and that I could completely be myself and was able to discuss hard things with her so easily. She was the first girl I did so with, and I can’t even explain why that was. My project last year of going through old journal entries, letters, and tapes from that time has also reminded me of great memories and experiences we had together.

As great as those college memories are, it’s the recent ones that feel especially tender now. I meant it when I said that Liz has been my biggest emotional support in this last hard and sometimes seemingly unbearable awfulness I’ve been facing the past few years. 9/10 times when I have referenced on my blog something wise a “friend” told me, it came from her. (Everyone should have a neuropsychologist for a best friend, just sayin’.) It was Liz who consistently helped me to have the courage to get out and do things in the after, like taking our kids on our first camping trip, taking vacations together, and really just starting to live again. Only last night as I was over at her house to help with last minute packing and sorting and such, Liz was my sounding board and helped me talk through and gain clarity, to lessen my anxiety, about some things going on in my life.

I know, I haven’t done a very good job about not getting overly sentimental or sappy with this post. Plus, as tempting as it is to go back through nearly 25 years of memories and continue to add photos, I am reminding myself to not end up embarrassing anyone here. While it’s not the same as being together in person, and despite a horrible time difference (18 or 20 hours different, depending on the time of year), there are great things like Marco Polo and What’sApp and Zoom and texts and emails and and and…. Not to mention that I almost certainly have a trip to New Zealand coming in my future!

It still hurts now, though.