Roaches. The Texas kind.

I just read Karen's post (different Karen than yesterday, but I'm definitely sensing a theme) about Texas cockroaches. It brought back Bad Memories.

I moved to Texas after college for a few years. The experience didn't start well, as within a month three things happened:

1. DT, who was supposed to move down with me, and whose car was already packed to move (with both of his possessions) was offered a place at a med school in another state. Starting the next day.
2. My mother's breast cancer recurred.
3. My grandfather had a heart attack. While driving his Winnebago. Yes, I'm from the South. (Incidentally, he survived and took the opportunity to kick his 60-year smoking habit, then lived until he was 93.)

All of this left me feeling incredibly alone and wondering whether I'd made a huge mistake to move, whether I should pack up and head home right away. My best friend came to visit and help me through, which I appreciated. My only real memory of her time with me, though, was one night when I saw my first Texas roach. When it started flying, I thought I'd die. She didn't hesitate, just grabbed her shoe and chased that thing around my tiny kitchen. She won. Truly, I don't know when I've been so grateful to another human - that roach was just the thing to push me over the edge, and my friend saved me.

Ironically, for years I've remembered that story as an example of Friendship Between Women and What You'll Do For a Friend in Need, but I found out recently that my friend doesn't remember it happening. Not sure what to make of that.