Float
When my best friend Lori and I were about 13, we visited my Aunt Jan who lived near the southeast Texas coast in Corpus Christi. She took us to the beach and we ran into the ocean with our neon pink and green blow-up floats to ride the waves. The water pulled us in quickly. Waves leapt towards us and we jumped them, or sometimes let them crash into us and suck us out even further. Lori is a much better swimmer than me. All it took was one bad tumble or one glimpse behind me to see how far away we were from land, and I was racing back to the sand. However, Lori would stay out there, letting the foamy waters of the Gulf of Mexico carry her farther and farther away.
26 years later, Lori still talks about learning to surf. When this contest came up, she asked me to nominate her. She never asks me for anything, so I knew this was important to her. Lori isn't ill; she's hasn't won Mother of the Year; she doesn't have any medals for the times she's saved her husband when he's in a diabetic coma; she hasn't won an environmental contest, but she should. She's an every day mother of two young girls, a speech therapist, and a wife. Why would she deserve this more than any other well-deserving person? I don't know. All I can tell you is what she means to me.
If you're lucky, you have a friend for every season. Lori happens to be that friend who has taught me how to deal with my own fears. When my mom found out she had breast cancer in 2003, Lori, who was 8 months pregnant with her first daughter, came to one of her chemotherapy sessions and sat with us. We passed the time entertaining, and mostly terrifying, my mom with secret tales of our middle and high school days. Drip, drip, drip. As the red poison flowed through my mom's body, we all forgot about it and laughed.
26 years later, Lori still talks about learning to surf. When this contest came up, she asked me to nominate her. She never asks me for anything, so I knew this was important to her. Lori isn't ill; she's hasn't won Mother of the Year; she doesn't have any medals for the times she's saved her husband when he's in a diabetic coma; she hasn't won an environmental contest, but she should. She's an every day mother of two young girls, a speech therapist, and a wife. Why would she deserve this more than any other well-deserving person? I don't know. All I can tell you is what she means to me.
If you're lucky, you have a friend for every season. Lori happens to be that friend who has taught me how to deal with my own fears. When my mom found out she had breast cancer in 2003, Lori, who was 8 months pregnant with her first daughter, came to one of her chemotherapy sessions and sat with us. We passed the time entertaining, and mostly terrifying, my mom with secret tales of our middle and high school days. Drip, drip, drip. As the red poison flowed through my mom's body, we all forgot about it and laughed.
When it was time for Lori to deliver her daugher Ella, she called me from the hospital. "Lesli, I want you to be here." What? I hadn't had a child yet. The thought of birth made me want to run for the hills! Yet, there I was watching it all go down on April 19, 2003. To watch her have her daughter put me at ease and gave me the courage to become a mother.
When Lori lost her dad suddenly in 1998, I know she wanted to run into the ocean and let the foamy waves carry her away. There was nothing I could do but watch her deal with the grief. One day at a time. One year at a time. She's finally on the other side of it. I would love to see her have her wish: to ride the waves on a real surfboard.
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