Yesterday was the birthday of my childhood friend, Patricia Jean Butler. Patricia and I met as little girls at Holy Trinity Episcopal Church, and we spent nearly every Sunday morning together—often followed by long afternoons at each other’s homes. Over those many Sundays, we forged an unbreakable bond that carried us through childhood and into our young adult years.

At 32, Patricia was diagnosed with malignant melanoma, a disease that slowly and cruelly took her life.

Below is a piece I wrote about Patricia several years ago. Today, I share it in honor of the birth of my first best friend.

May light perpetual shine upon the soul of my beloved Patricia.

***

My best friend growing up was Patricia Butler. I met her when I was three and she was four, right after her family moved to our small town and began attending our tiny Episcopal mission. Patricia was my opposite in appearance—she had big blue eyes, snow-blonde hair, and was as skinny as a pole. I had almond-shaped dark brown eyes, dark brown hair, and carried a bit of baby fat. But beyond appearances, we were kindred spirits. We laughed at the same jokes, liked and disliked the same people, and could finish each other’s sentences. We also loved to sing and spent countless hours harmonizing on songs we polished to perfection—for no audience but ourselves.

Since Patricia was a year older, she was always one grade ahead of me in school. Ironically, most of our classmates didn’t even know we were friends, because we stuck to our age groups during the school day. But nearly every weekend of our childhood and adolescence, we were together—especially on Sundays at and after church.

Our friendship stretched into college and adulthood. Patricia was there when I gave birth to all three of my children. She adored my husband almost as much as I did, and their shared love of art bonded them—and became a gateway for my own appreciation of the arts. Tragically, Patricia was diagnosed with brain cancer at 32. She died a few years later, already a shadow of the vibrant woman she had been.

Still, Patricia holds a singular place in my heart. I can see her in my mind as clearly as if she were still here. I can almost hear her voice and know what she’d say in just about any situation. I know she’d be proud of the three babies she helped welcome into the world—and I’m certain she’d agree that Ray has only grown more wonderful with age.

Though I miss her deeply, I see glimpses of Patricia in every close friendship I’ve had. She was—and remains—my first and closest friend. She taught me how to be a friend, how to love a friend. That is her legacy: a life full of deep, lasting connections. How lucky I am to have had such a sweet and dear first friend.