I stared up at the ceiling from my rock-hard bed in the hospital maternity ward. Two hours earlier, I’d given birth to Markeise, my beautiful baby boy. I should’ve felt elated. And yet, something—someone—was missing. Minnie, my mom.

Lachesha and Minnie

For as long as I could remember, I’d called her by her first name. Minnie had me when she was only a teen, and we were close enough in age that we acted more like best friends than mother and daughter—“thick as thieves,” my grandmother often said. Even after I got married, we talked on the phone every day, went shoe shopping on the weekends, cracked up over the same jokes.

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