Strong and Fragile

There are people in our lives who make a lasting impact, even long after they were gone.

I call her Mimmi here, though that was a name that she only let a couple of people call her, but she is gone now, faded from this world far to soon. She was only thirty six when she died, leaving a nine year old son, her parents and friends to grieve, but the day I dialed the familiar number I can still remember today, I knew even before her husband answered the phone I knew, she was gone, the last time we had talked we had spoken in terms of hopes and dreams, we had laughed over silly antics, and we had cried.

Some friends we know are meant to be, really they are more than friends, more like sisters this was true for Mimmi and I, our friendship was built at first over late night chats in the old MSN chat groups, as well as phone calls, and twelve page letters, signed Bestest Friend, and sister of my heart, and in August of 02, only eleven months after the terrorists attacks, a (now) former friend and I would hop on a Greyhound bus, with her then toddler son, and spend three and a half days on a Greyhound bus, something I would not recommend, but it was our only option at the time, so we went.

When we finally got off the bus stop, not to far away from the small Georgia town where she had moved only months before, I breathed a sigh of relief, hot and sticky, all i wanted to do was…