The Space She Holds

I’m back after getting some exciting news from my bestie. Ms. Muffy herself.

It’s been sixteen days since I last spoke to her. Just over two weeks. About the same length as my time away from this blog.

She shared the good news of her first doctor’s appointment with a new primary care physician — one who actually listens to her needs. And most importantly, one she can afford.

She was so happy. It felt like a celebration for me too, even though I know I can’t truly understand the depth of her relief. She’s been through things I haven’t. That much was always clear to me.

Her joy got me thinking about everything her body has been enduring. I still remember the days I nearly had mini heart attacks from reading what she was going through. The physical pain. The strain. Even the gnashing of her teeth while she sleeps still unsettles me. I shiver at the thought.

She has an X-ray and MRI coming up now. Real tools. Real help. Something finally moving forward.

But even in her happiness, something inside me ached.

How long did it take for her to finally reach this point? How long was she carrying all of that in her life?

We’ve been friends for what feels like forever — since 2024 and then some. I never bothered counting the days. Being around her made time move easily.

Then the thought hit me.

What if she hadn’t gotten this help?

What if one day she just stopped texting me?

Not because she wanted to… but because she couldn’t. Illness. A coma. Death.

What would happen to her children? Her husband? Her friends… me?

I found myself tearing up instantaneously.

It shocked me. I don’t cry easily. I don’t even feel much, most days. So why did it feel like for her, the dam was never there?

As the ache settled in my chest, I realized something certain.

If she died… I would feel abandoned.

Not just grief. Abandonment.

And deeper than that, I think my subconscious sees her as a kind of mother figure — not in an obvious way, but in the way presence shapes you. She’s family to me. Not just a friend.

It’s strange. Months can pass between conversations, and I still feel her presence just as strongly. It doesn’t intrude. It doesn’t fade. It simply exists… watching, steady.

Maybe I’m being silly.

I’ve always been kind to her in our interactions. Protective, even. I’d vouch for her. Share resources. Spend time without hesitation during our gaming days.

But lately, I realized something. I haven’t actually been showing up the way I think I have. Not in games. Not in conversation. Not in presence.

Maybe my brain rewired itself toward the new and quietly let the old slip into the background. Afterall my current life doesn't interact much with a family member I would love.

But she never lost her place.

Muffy has always held that space as family in my mind. And the thought of her physically declining made me realize just how badly I want her to keep it.

I wouldn’t want a replacement. Not ever.

I still have a few Chimera Land videos saved on my phone. I deleted some photos… but I’m glad I kept what I did.

Today felt like a celebration — not loud, not public. Just quiet relief.

And a reminder.

Some bonds don’t weaken with time.
They just sit there… waiting to be noticed again.