Dearest Avis,
Today you turn
forty! Which means, I am … scratch my
head … blah blah, blah, math … carry the one … and um, WHOA, that cannot be
right?! Wasn’t it 1997, like three
seconds ago? Yes, it was. I think we have already established that we
were an unlikely duo when we first shared an office at Big DC Law Firm in
1997. Because you were a smart brunette
lawyer and I was a dumb blonde ex-sorority girl who stole your Post-Its.
Alright, so I
was not, actually, dumb, but I LOOKED dumb (Shh! Boys don’t like girls who can read!), with my
long blonde hair, French-manicured acrylic nails and permatan. Pre-child, I was also much, much, much
skinnier (See, Exhibit A, Eating all the
things. Et al.) yet, oddly, had bigger boobs back then. Or maybe they were just … higher? I don’t know. I didn’t really pay much attention to high
school physics. Ok, now back to you … in
any event, our first few months as suitemates did not foretell fifteen years
of enduring friendship. I know, now,
that you’d give me a kidney if I needed one and then ship boxes of all the
top-of-the-line dialysis equipment that Neiman Marcus had to offer.
You knew me when
I was 22 and first met my (now ex) husband at the disco bar next our office (“Really,
you met on the 80s floor?”). You
red-lined my law school application essays when I was 23 (“I’d rethink thrice”)
and when I was out of time, money, and energy after applying to fourteen
schools (indecisive much?), you offered to pay my application fee to your alma
mater so that I could go to the best possible school (and stay in DC! With you!).
You offered me support when I first met my son at the age of 27, and had
no idea how unbelievably hard it would be to stay up all night/(s) with a
crying baby, for the next 150 years. And
of course, my brain tumor at age 32, which sadly, you knew all about from
losing your dad to the same illness.
At those times
when there is absolutely nothing correct to say, you somehow manage to find
just the right thing. You were the person I called when I found out I was probably dying, the first time. And then the second. And the third. I have called you
at my more dire points, at every hour, and hung up the phone laughing and
feeling less broken, more whole. You are
the person I call to report all of my life events -- the good, the bad, the
unthinkable, and the completely f’ing inconsequential. You are the best person to talk to about …
anything. You understand my phone
messages even when I am all ugly crying face.
You understand my messages after I’ve had a glass of wine (**four) and
am all, “Heyzxc ame-EEEE … whacha wanna do? I think I could stay with
YOUUUUUU!!! … calzz me, K?” Of course,
you later mock me for those wine messages, but that is totally fair.
You are the
lobster lumps to my can of Diet Coke, the Arnold to my Palmer, the caramel to
my giant Williams-Sonoma apple, the lemons to my colored-glass vase of dahlias, my
cumin to … whatever the hell cumin goes in.
You are the big sister I never had (Marsha!!)/therapist I could never
afford/career counselor/dark comedic cohort/BFF.
While there
are legions of people who start law school with this golden hazy concept of “helping
people”, you are one of the few who has actually used your incredible mind to
bring about changes for what you believe in.
You are exactly the same astounding person that I first met when you
were 26. That is, you are brilliant,
kind-hearted, complex, out-of-this world generous and laugh-until-I-cannot
breath funny. But now years later,
after some Real Life patina, you are someone even better. An even better friend, partner, mother,
lawyer, person. You are who I want to be
when I grow up.
I can only
imagine the person you will become over the next 40 years. I can hardly wait to meet her.
All my love,
Julia
1 comment:
May this birthday year bring you some wonderful and enriching and happy surprises - no one deserves them more!
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