I'm Pen Pals With My Late Mother's Best Friend

After my mother died suddenly, her childhood best friend sent a condolence card.
She continued to send us holiday cards over the years, and I started to send cards back.
Now, we write to each other several times a month. Our bond is strong, and unexpected.

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Not long after my mom died suddenly in a car accident during my junior year of college, I received a sympathy card in the mail from her childhood best friend, Kay. Kay and my mom grew up together, and they'd remained friends over the decades, regularly chatting on the phone about the day-to-day of their lives and periodically meeting up for in-person visits.

That's how I best knew Kay — the friendly voice on the other end of the line when I'd answer the phone. We weren't particularly close, but I knew she held an important role in my mother's life; a human touchstone linking her childhood and adulthood, someone outside her family who knew and loved my mom in both eras of her life.

Kay and I started to write to each other

Over the next few years after my mom's death, Kay continued sending our family holiday cards, just as she had when my mother was alive. I usually sent greetings back on behalf of our family, and I also added her to my list for college graduation announcements and such. I can't quite remember how, but at some point, our correspondence evolved beyond holiday and birthday cards to letters.

We've forged our own friendship over the years

While I love those glimpses into my mother's life before I came along, I also treasure the insight our letters give me into Kay's world. Her enduring relationship with her husband, the flowers she likes planting in her yard, her love of karaoke — these tidbits paint a richer, more nuanced picture of my friend Kay, rather than just my mom's best friend.

The analog nature of our friendship feels like a lovely throwback to a less hectic time — the delight I feel pulling something handwritten from my mailbox, the simple joy of choosing the perfect stationery or card, the sensation of ink saturating paper. Sure, we could call or text, but we don't. And though she still lives in the same town as my dad, I haven't seen her since my wedding more than a decade ago. Something about writing just feels right for our relationship.

When I read and reply to Kay's letters, I'm forced to stop, focus, and be present in that moment. I take the time to digest her words, then carefully choose my own, rather than letting emojis or hastily typed DMs speak for me.

Though we've never discussed it, I can't help feeling my friendship with Kay helps fill a small part of the void left in my life by my mother's untimely passing. Kay isn't a replacement for my mom, but our friendship gives me a sense of what it might have been like to have an adult relationship with my mother.

Kay doesn't have children or grandchildren of her own, and while I know I'm not the daughter she never had, I hope that our friendship gives her some sense of that mother-daughter bond I enjoyed with my mom.

Though unexpected, my friendship with Kay plays an important role in my life. Her letters have become a refreshing constant that afford me a breather from the hubbub and stress of being a working parent. And they serve as a reminder that even in the face of unimaginable loss, life can surprise you with exactly what you need in a way you'd never expect.

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