The death of my mother killed the friend I used to be

I used to be the best friend a woman could ask for. Now, I’m struggling to remember who that person even was.

I used to be the best friend a woman could ask for. Now, I’m struggling to remember who that person even was.

Photo by Matt Hoffman on Unsplash

by: E.B. Johnson

Tomorrow, marks two years since the death of my mother. She died at home — alone — in her bed and surrounded by the children that never disappointed her: her pets. She was 63 years old and the stro…