Over the years I’ve occasionally told you about my best friend Michelle and her battle with Stage IV breast cancer. I’ve told you about her family, her struggle and how to help those affected by terminal cancer diagnoses. And since October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I wanted to make you all a little more aware.

Michelle lost her battle with cancer on Jan. 1, 2020. I saw her the day before and we knew it was coming. I hugged her, kissed her and cried the ugliest cry of my life. I played with her 7-year-old daughter. I comforted her 9-year-old who wondered how much longer. I sat silently with her 12-year-old in solidarity. I hugged her parents and spoke quietly with her husband. 

When I got the news that she was gone, I was surprised that I did not cry. The pain of the past three years was done and the grieving could begin. I didn’t cry over her death until just recently, about eight months after she passed. Why then? We were talking about birthdays and I was asked what I wanted. And all I could think was that I wanted a best friend again. 

You see, there are resources aplenty for grieving parents and spouses and children – as there should be. I cannot begin to imagine their pain. But there are not really resources for grieving best friends. And while I would never wish her back to earth in her cancer-filled body, I miss her every day. I want to talk to her every day. I want to experience life with a best friend by my side.

So, I find myself without that person. I’ll be 40 on my birthday. This is an age where I should be firmly planted with my bestie, and I was. Nobody can replace Michelle, but the slot has been vacant for nine months now and I desperately need that void filled. I have an amazing tribe of women around me whom I love. But that one special, elevated position has left a hole in my heart. 

Now taking applications. If you love laughter, family, pedicures, Sophia Petrillo, and Jesus, please inquire within. 

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