My mom died and left me her best friend

I shuffled into the lobby of my New York City wedding venue, holding my gown. I was excited and anxious, but Rena hugged me and calmed my nerves. In the way that the best mothers are, she’d been a huge support to me. But she wasn’t my mother — she was her best friend.

She had been there to help me pick out my dress months earlier — and she was also there a few years later, to help soothe my grief when I mourned my difficult pregnancy loss. Rena had stood by my side for each monumental moment since the unexpected death of my mother in 2010.

It was a warm night in May — the day after Mother's Day — when I received a phone call to return to the hospital, and realized what it meant. The doctor told me my mom, whose past cancer had returned and spread, was gone. She used words I didn’t understand and explained that nothing could’ve been done. When asked if I wanted to see her one last time, I declined.

My parents divorced when I was 3, and though, in retrospect, I suspect my mother felt an underlying loneliness, she always seemed to live a full life with lots of friends. Yet at the time, Rena was one of few who knew what she had been going through with her cancer. A secret she’d initially kept even from me. While I buried my head inside of my sweatshirt and ignored the world that day at the hospital, Rena was the one who went into her room to say goodbye.

Later, she helped me make impossible decisions and unthinkable phone calls, and opened her home for Shiva after the funeral. She tended to me with love, lox and bagels, and provided a safe haven when everything felt dark and lonely.

That first night without my mom, I slept at her apartment — though my own was 20 blocks away. I stayed cradled in the fetal position in her own daughter’s bed (who was away at college), unable to sleep, knowing I’d never again experience the warmth of my mother’s arms wrapped around me.

I’d known Rena almost my entire life, but after that, the second chapter of our relationship began.

The particulars of our friendship are unique, but intergenerational relationships aren’t — 4 in 10 ten adults have a close friend at least 15 years older or younger than them, according to research from AARP. There are positive effects to having friends outside your age group on both sides. For older friends, it offers a renewed energy — for younger people, a role model. For both, it’s a chance for new inspiration, and the chance to get a different perspective. But any health benefits are a bonus for me.

Our connection to each other was forged long ago. When I was a young girl, my mom and her friend were colleagues at the prestigious FIT University in New York City: Rena, a professor, and my mom, a teacher’s assistant. They were also both divorced, with one daughter to whom they were very close, and they bonded over these commonalities.

I knew Rena as one of my mom’s closest friends. We’d been to her home for Jewish holidays, and often I’d see my mom sitting on her bed talking to her on the phone, gossiping like a schoolgirl.

Now, I’m the one on the other end of the line with Rena. Our friendship transformed from a side effect to its own organism — strong, and thriving on its own. Defined not by time or obligation, but love and support.

For me, our relationship has been most meaningful in those times when Rena knew I needed a motherly figure. Like when she accompanied me weekly to the depths of Brooklyn to be fitted for that wedding dress, offering thoughts on ways to incorporate my mom — like a garter belt made from one of mom’s hand-painted silk scarves. A secret tribute that I proudly wore under my gown.

On the best day of my life, she was there to guide and support me when my mother could not.

She was there for the worst day too, almost two years later. The morning after I lost my baby at five months pregnant, I awoke in the hospital bed to a small hand, softly grazing mine. She stood next to my husband, as her Type A personality took over, demanding stronger pain meds from my nurse — a request I’d also made that had been ignored.

I quietly mouthed thank you, when the words wouldn’t form.

“I’m always here for you, sweet girl,” she replied, out loud.

Next to her, on a table, was a brown bag filled with hot bagels from which I could see steam literally rising. Breakfast was the last thing on my mind, but the smell brought me comfort.

Food was her love language, and once again she expressed that love through bagels as she lovingly slathered one with scallion cream cheese and placed it on my tray. I felt love circulating through my veins. It was a small reminder that I was still alive, and despite what my brain said, I was not alone.

The last decade has been filled with chats, messages, mutual support and encouragement between the two of us. We’ve reciprocated flowers, phone check-ins, and the simultaneous grabbing of a dinner bill.

I’ve always tried to remember that even though Rena is filling an impossible void for me, she has her own busy life, including a grown daughter who I don’t know well, beyond the secondhand stories I hear about her life. I always feel immense gratitude that she allows me to share her mother at times.

At times, I’ve wondered if I can ever give back to Rena as much as she’s given me. Her presence helps fill a vacancy, whereas the role I play in her life fills an extra space in her heart, as opposed to an empty one.

That night in the hospital, now more than a decade ago, she lost a friend, and I lost a mother and an irreplaceable relationship. It’s an absence that I have felt more profoundly in recent years, as I’ve struggled to become a mother myself.

I have a few maternal figures in my life, including my mother-in-law. But my relationship with Rena has given me peace of mind in the present, and a touchstone to the past that no other woman possesses.

Having her in my life has provided a feeling of safety and home, from the happiest to the hardest moments — planning both a funeral and a wedding.

I’ve learned true connection comes in all shapes and sizes and isn’t confined by typical standards. The friendship between my mom and her is in the past, but it continues on, evolving, through our friendship now.

Do you have a personal essay to share with TODAY? Please send your ideas to TODAYEssays@nbcuni.com.

This article was originally published on TODAY.com