Our best friend Allison

Many years ago now, I texted my friend Allison Rockey something super goopy like “I just realized, you’re my very best friend.” My memory is that she responded with something incredibly sweet, heartfelt, and Allison-like that also conspicuously did not include the words “You’re my best friend too”—something along the lines of “You mean so much to me and I’m so grateful to have you in my life.” It was a little bit like the scene in the sitcom where one half of the romantic couple says “I love you” and the other responds with “Thank you.” At first, I was a little put out by it. If I wasn’t her best friend, who was? Was it Lauren From College? What did Lauren From College have that I didn’t have? Etc etc etc.

Over time, and especially after she got breast cancer last year, I realized that Allison had no one best friend because she had many best friends. She was more gifted at friendship, and at showing love for people, than anyone I’ve ever known. (Lest you think she was angelic—she was also an expert shit-talker, the best in the business.)

I’m usually not one to celebrate my birthday, but for my 40th in 2021 I asked Allison and her husband Paolo to mark it by joining me and James for a trip to Dollywood. The day was disgustingly humid with very little shade, there was nothing for vegan Allison and Paolo to eat but French fries, and we were nervous about the number of unvaxxed Republicans probably surrounding us, but we still had a great time. Through it all Allison was clearly delighted by how delighted I was. She insisted on being the one to buy me an “I will always love you” mug from the Dolly store with my name on it. Later that night at our rental cabin, she made me a simple birthday cake out of little more than flour, sugar, and blueberries.

These were just some of the ways she showed me she loved me, over 16 years of friendship that transformed my life in ways large and small. And the magic of Al is that she made so many people feel like this, and so many people felt like this about her.

For as long as I live I’ll feel lucky for knowing, loving, and being loved by her—our thoughtful, hilarious, brilliant best friend. Miss you forever, Al.