Her Mama.

I have tried to write this story almost twenty times already over the last year. Each time, it has ended the same way it began, with a blank page. It’s not that I can’t remember how it happened. That is the most far from the truth reason. I remember it all. The reason is because it’s never perfect. This has to be perfect, and it never is. This story means a lot to me and until it’s perfect, or at least as close to perfect as I can get, then it will never be done.

Her name was Debra. Debra Jean Devries. People called her Debbie. I call her amazing. She gave me one of the best presents anyone can give, she gave me a confidant, she gave me a shoulder to lean on, and she gave me a best friend. She gave me Barb, her only daughter surrounded by four sons.

I met Barb in fourth grade. We became friends right away; it was just something we shared. I remember one of the first times I went over to her house; ‘mama’ was making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for us. Before she put the two pieces of bread together, she crunched up Lays potato chips and put them inside.
“That’s gross.” I said making the face a fourth grader would.
“Well, how do you know, I’ve bet you’ve never even tried it, here, take a bite.” Without further questioning I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. It was delicious. Magnificent in fact. To this day, if I have the option of putting ground up lays chips on my sandwich, I will do it.

For a while Barb and I separated. We were not really as great of friends in high school as we were when we were younger, granted we were still friends, it just wasn’t the same. I would see her mom at basketball at football games and always talk to her, she would say “Nae-Nae, when are you coming over again, it’s been too long.” And it had been too long, in fact, it had been years since I had been over to Barb’s house. The worst part of it all, was that by the time I did make it there again, Debbie was not. I never did make it to the house before she died, and to this day that makes me sad.