Updated: Feb. 19, 2020
Originally Published: Feb. 18, 2020
One recurring theme I’ve noticed among new mothers is the sense of isolation that can creep in after the arrival of a baby. You bring your little one home, and while life for everyone else seems to continue on as usual, you’re left wondering, what now? For me, that “what now?” felt especially pronounced. Being an only child and a recent transplant to Los Angeles, I soon realized that new friendships wouldn’t materialize just because I was pushing a baby stroller through West Hollywood.
A friend suggested I approach my quest for mom friends like I would dating—scanning the scene, collecting numbers, and scheduling coffee dates. Although I never mastered the art of the pursuit, I did manage to find some mom buddies to navigate the various phases of my two boys’ lives. Some friendships were fleeting but intense, while others remained more casual. A few were gems, but life had its way of pulling them away.
Then, when my youngest entered third grade, I met someone new. I’d noticed her around school, always sporting stylish European shoes and eye-catching geometric skirts. She had an artsy vibe that was slightly intimidating. As our sons became friends, Christine and I found ourselves gravitating toward one another. One day, while I was laid up with a fever, she unexpectedly called to let me know she was picking up my son and bringing me soup. No questions, just a statement of intent. In that moment, I thought, “Wow, I’ve found it—the holy grail of friendships. The sister Mom I’ve been longing for.”
We developed a routine of sharing rides to violin lessons, school pickups, and sleepovers, along with deep conversations about life’s ups and downs. My marriage was falling apart, while both of her parents passed away within months of each other. We talked about work stresses, financial woes, and creative struggles. What I appreciated most was Christine’s refreshing authenticity—she didn’t buy into the motherhood mythos. She had never mastered Thanksgiving dinner or organized a bake sale, and our chats were peppered with colorful language. She was brutally honest but also the most attentive listener I had ever met. She became my emergency contact.
Over time, our circle expanded to include three other women, and I finally stopped worrying about who I would sit with at lunch. Christine would always suggest, “Oh, we should do that!” whenever a new event came up. We attended art openings, launched a book club, and danced our hearts out, carefully maneuvering around our pile of jackets and purses on the dance floor, sipping craft cocktails with a wink and a toss of our hair.
One Mother’s Day, we decided to embrace our holiday privileges and took our boys to a feminist art show focused on motherhood, followed by a screening of the RBG documentary. When we discovered our movie was sold out, we had to adapt and ended up watching Tully instead—you know, the indie film where Charlize Theron portrays a new mom experiencing postpartum depression. The boys emerged from the theater looking stunned, and my son remarked, “I don’t think we were the intended audience for that movie.” Christine and I felt quite clever.
We didn’t want to be the moms who left all the fun to the dads. We took our boys to Sequoia each fall to hug gigantic trees, letting the kids toss rocks in the water while we enjoyed Moscow mules by the fire. It was during one of these trips in 2016 that I convinced Christine to join me for the inaugural Women’s March in Washington, D.C. It didn’t take much persuasion—once I mentioned we could stay in my old roommate’s guest room, she responded as she always did: “Oh, we should do that!” Soon, she was busy knitting pussy hats for everyone we knew.
We marched that year, and the following years too. Our friendship continued to thrive with laughter, drinks, and unwavering support. When my son was on the verge of not graduating high school due to failing a graphic design class, Christine called him over to her house and helped him finish all his unfinished work in just six hours. A week later, she was there to toast him at his graduation dinner.
We were in a good place. Until we weren’t. Last spring, Christine experienced severe pain in her neck that spread to her side. A diagnosis of stage IV lung cancer followed. Our group rallied around her, armed with meal plans, CBD tinctures, and even an impromptu road trip to see blooming poppies in the high desert. We laughed, cursed, and let the warm air dry our tears.
That Mother’s Day, there was no opportunity to devise new ways to tease our boys. Just a month after her diagnosis, Christine found herself hospitalized. During my last visit while she was still coherent, I sat beside her bed, holding her hand and preparing for whatever she wanted to share—words of wisdom, advice for her children, or maybe even her fears. She lifted her oxygen mask, locked eyes with me, and instead of sage advice, she expressed the harsh reality. “I’m so fucked.”
I held her hand for what felt like forever, watching her fade in and out, knowing my only role was to be present and tell her I loved her, because she was right. She was indeed fucked. Three days later, she passed, surrounded by her husband and children.
These days, our crew has drawn in closer, aware of the multitude of ways Christine’s absence has left its mark on our lives. It’s a gut-wrenching experience when I reach the emergency contact line on forms and wish I could call her for our typical exchange: “Hi Christine.” “Hi Christine.” What I miss most is how she made me feel like anything was achievable. I’m striving to keep that spirit alive, holding onto her voice that always encouraged, “Oh, you should do that!”
For more stories about navigating motherhood, check out this post on home insemination kits. If you’re looking for more resources on pregnancy and home insemination, visit Cleveland Clinic’s insightful podcast on IVF and fertility preservation.
Summary
This piece reflects on the poignant journey of forming a deep friendship during the trials of motherhood, highlighting the joy and support found in a close bond. The narrative captures the highs of shared experiences and the heartbreaking lows of loss, ultimately emphasizing the importance of connection and encouragement in navigating life’s challenges.
Keyphrase: Best Friend Emergency Contact
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