She told me:
You were both teachers (I forget where) in the late seventies. She saw you in the smoke-filled teachers' lounge hemming your skirt with a stapler. That's when she knew you'd be close friends.
You had kids at the same time, and I still remember the picture of you and Steve before you were married.
Her least proud moment was something about leaving a jacket in the back of a van, and telling you your tits were too small (can't remember the context, but I remember her regret) and how you never forgave her for that.
I knew you threw checks back and forth, when you both were broke in the early days before banks were good on timing.
I knew we spent hours, days at your house.
I remember when Paul clogged your toilet, the bath pictures, a lot more.
I remember her being upset as (in her words) old friends get, when every statement would set either of you off. You would say "you should-" and maybe she should have.
But, you were best friends, through thick and thin. When she had just gotten in the hospital, you made us chili- and if it wasn't mom's recipe, it sure tasted like it. You two were so intertwined, you are undeniably the sister she should have had.