My Best Friend: A True Story


My best friend lives far away. North Carolina. But whenever we see each other, we play and we laugh until we cry. Sometimes we’d take walks. Once, we watched Oliver Twist. That is her favorite movie. One time, I remember she took me out under the stars, and showed me the big dipper. My godmother, Aunt Mary Ann, was always there for me, whenever I needed a good laugh or a good cry. I have her phone number memorized. Still do. 1-209-684-3927. But things are different now. I don’t call her anymore. Because when I call, she doesn’t know who I am. My best friend has Alzheimers. I remember calling her, the day I found out. I cried to her, telling her I was so sorry. My uncle didn’t let us know what was going on, until it was really too late. Not that she’d died or anything. Just that, as I was talking to her, crying to her, she hung up. Because she couldn’t remember what she was doing with the phone. Shortly after, we went down to visit. My uncle let us in, and I sat on the couch, waiting for her, wondering what we would do today. When she came in, I asked if she wanted to watch a movie. Any other time I’d ever asked that, her face would light up, the glow of a thousand suns, and she pull Oliver Twist out of their movie cabinet. That day, she smiled, said ‘sure’ and opened the cabinet, only to turn and walk away into the kitchen. She’d gotten distracted on her way to get a movie. When my uncle and I managed to point her in the right direction, she picked ‘Babe’. I stared at her confused.

“Don’t you want to watch Oliver Twist?” I’d asked.

“No,” she’d responded, seeming puzzled, “Why would I want to do that?”

“Oliver is your favorite movie,” I’d whispered.

“It is?” she asked. Then she shrugged, and put Babe back in the cabinet. “Well, that was fun. I always did like that movie. Babe is very cute, isn’t it?”

I stared. She put the movie back because she’d forgotten that she was about to watch it, not about to put it back. She does the same thing with showers. Once, we heard the water running, then shut off. She came downstairs in a bathrobe, and dry hair. She’d forgotten, that she was stepping into the shower, not stepping out. And then came the frightful day when she forgot about me. My best friend. She doesn’t know who I am. She can’t remember all the fun times we had, laughing and joking. Sometimes we picked strawberries or raspberries together. From the garden in the back yard that she helped me tend. But she doesn’t remember any more. I remember though. And I remember the day that they came for a visit, and when she walked in our house, she turned to my uncle and said,
“What are we doing here?”

“This is my brother’s family. Your niece, Meghan, your sister and brother in law Rachel and Paul.” He whispered as they hung up their jackets.

“I don’t have a niece named Meghan. My niece’s name is Kiara.” Her sister’s daughter.

I bit my lip, and tried not to cry. I knew it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t choose to forget me. But my best friend will never remember the taste of the freshly picked berries, the sound of the shared laughter, or the feeling of the bond of love we created and shared. My best friend doesn’t remember being my best friend. But I remember. I will always remember. For both of us.

** notes: This is a true story. My father, mother, and the other nieces names were changed, as well as the phone number. This is to protect their privacy. I called my uncle, and he said my aunt wouldn’t mind me putting up this story about her. My aunt has been, is, and will always be my best friend. Just because she can no longer remember who I am does not break the bond that I have shared with her. She will remain forever in my prayers, my memories, and most importantly, in my heart.