Being a good friend is hard word. Being a good friend to someone who fears her mother is dying is saintly.

I have nothing but fond memories of my undergrad years at Whittier College, most in part to the group of fabulous friends I made. There was a group of about 12 of us who lived together in a college suite and we made our collegiate lives so much more enjoyable and joyful. We still stay in contact with each other—even though most of us have moved from California—so when one of my best friends announced she was planning to visit from her Hawaiian home, the remainder SoCal nucleus gathered together for a night of good food, laughter, and lots of catching up.

Two of my friends in particular, Lauren and Ginger, became pillars during the absolute worst time in my life. My mother was diagnosed with a rare form of brain cancer my junior year of college and it turned my world upside-down, inside-outside, and backwards. I was only 20 years old when my father said we had to start thinking about funeral arrangements. Needless to say, I was in such a state of mourning and inner turmoil…but my friends were always there for me. They came and celebrated my mother’s birthday when she was completely bald and going through horrible chemotherapy and I don’t think I can ever put into words how thankful I was to have them in my life.

When Ginger emailed a few weeks ago and asked if she could stay with me during her visit, I was more than happy to oblige. During her stay, we had an impromptu photo session…I tried my best, but I don’t think I could adequately capture her beautiful spirit and caring soul. I’m so blessed to have such wonderful people in my life at varying stages—who I was, who I am, and who I will become is merely an amalgamation of the imprints my friends have left on my heart.