Losing A Best Friend While Abroad

 I called my parents to exchange stories about our 4^th of July celebrations. To possibly laugh over the mishaps and mayhem from the annual do-it-yourself firework show.

But instead, my laugh quickly echoed into sobering tears as my mother told me my best friend of sixteen years had died. Died. And as I often do, when I’d rather not handle something, I hung up. I hung up and crumbled to the floor.

It was such an unexpected shock to my system. I still remember the first day I met him, how interactive and friendly he was. He never liked cuddling, but man he loved giving kisses. Throughout the years, he put up with so much of my bullshit. All those times I dressed him up . All those times he took the first snow plunge, when we were all apprehensive to see how deep it went.

He was my best friend.

The weekly chore of taking the trash to the cul-de-sac was never a bother because he always joined. He would remind me to not get annoyed at the task at hand, and we’d play in the woods for hours, returning home and getting scolded by Mom because we were only meant to be outside a few minutes.  All those adventures to the creek were always glistened with his footsteps. No matter how far I went, he was always game to join. My brother and I would play paintball by the bunkers, and there he would be jumping over the water to join.

I still have that scar from when the tree branch came crashing down next to us, when he clung onto me so tight with our lives flashing before our eyes. All those all-nighters I spent studying in middle and high school, he was there helping me finish the cookies and milk Dad had brought in. Sometimes I would sneak outside and shed some tears over the drama of being an adolescent, and without even calling him over, he’d be there to empathize. He’d rub my head up and brush away my sniffles. He was the best listener.

As a youngster, he peed on the toilet seat cover, and I took the fall for him. But the timeout in the corner was well worth him not getting kicked out for the day. Many times Mom would object to our sleepovers, so when everyone was asleep I’d sneak out and let him in. Before I even knew selfies existed, I was snapping photos with him. Capturing the moments of absolute affection.

    

                    

I’d return home from college break or an adventure abroad, enter the house, and head straight for my boys. My Calvin & Hobbes. Hobbes would immediately be smiles, purrs, rubs, happiness. . . all a fury overflow of love. It’s always been one of the best things to have these amazing boys, my most beautiful friends provide me with the greeting of home.

And the thing is, I go on these adventures, and selfishly, think things will go on perfectly the same.  But in reality all is changing, all is progressing, all is aging. Although I wish I could be at home, mourning with my other best friend, his brother, Calvin. I can’t. My moment is here. And that’s the beautiful thing about moments, because being present in them is what’s blossomed these amazing memories with my childhood best friend.

Hobbes is living his moment now.

I’ve heard kitty heaven is pretty amazing buddy. Love you. Always.