Soul Sistah

Jules, my best friend in the world, lost her brother last week. She is heartbroken and heartsick and I wish that there was something-anything-that I could do to ease her pain. Sadly, I’ve learned enough about life to know that Grief is its own master; its only foes are time and love and, while I can’t predict how much of the former she will need, I have plenty of the latter and it is all hers. I owe her that, and more.
Jules is my soul sister; she knows everything there is to know about me and she loves me anyway. She is the rarest and most precious of friends; the one who stood by me through the very best and the very worst. I have known her virtually all my life. My earliest memories are of her and her family sitting in the pew in front of my family in St. Joseph’s Catholic Church every Sunday morning at the 10:00 a.m. mass. Jules was five years younger than I and had something I wanted desperately; brothers. Many a Sunday I sat and fantasized about having brothers of my own. Not that I was jealous, just...envious. Also, Jules had the hair. It hung down to her ass and was thick and naturally wavy. The color can best be described as a beautiful brown with red highlights that shined like a penny in the sunlight. In case you couldn't tell, I loved Jules’ hair; I actually sat in the house of God and envied her that hair with all my heart. Then, one Sunday, Jules came to church with a new haircut; a DOROTHY HAMMIL PIXIE CUT and I was mortified. Seriously. Even now, scenes from Mommy Dearest flash through my mind when I think about that haircut. I often lose sleep wondering what in the world could have possessed her mother to inflict such a horror upon her only daughter. Granted, Jules was probably none too impressed with her new do, either, but I was traumatized. In all honesty, if I could have grown hair like that I would have locked myself in a tower and called myself freakin’ Rapunzel and it was just…gone.
Not gone? My issues, clearly.
And, I digress.
No matter what her hairstyle (she’s had quite a few since and they have all been gorgeous), I owe a lot to Jules. She is the person who dragged my emotionally wrecked ass through the worst year of my life. She was the one who ran my bath, poured my wine, plopped my ass in the tub and took care of my babies when I was incapable of attending to my own needs let alone those of an infant and a toddler. She stood beside me through a very messy time in my marriage and she did it with grace and style. Hugh also owes a huge debt to Jules; she was the one friend who was able to support me in forgiving him and in moving forward with our marriage without recrimination and, because of that, she and Hugh are close today. Not too many people have a friend like Jules. If you do, consider yourself lucky and cherish her. I know I do.
In this life, I was blessed with three sisters, two were born from the same womb as I; one was born in my heart and that is Jules.
And I will be there for her now and always.
All my love, Jules. All my life.