When we were teenagers, she was my best friend.

Now she’s dead.

At a time when I needed a friend so badly, she was there. Years after we essentially lost touch, cancer claimed the person who gave me so much, at a time when I desperately wanted what she and her family had to offer.

We were high school girls living in a Texas town that then looked like the set for “The Last Picture Show.” These days, Wylie is a booming suburb of Dallas, but at the time it was a dreary little place with a feed store, a Dairy Queen, a couple of grocery stores and a small high school (my class had 50 graduates).

My friend Judy was cheerful, fun and caring.

My parents, who I loved very much and who loved me and my siblings, were functioning alcoholics who focused a lot of their attention on liquor and cigarettes. As a family, we all got along, but we weren’t especially demonstrative.

Judy’s family, on the other hand, was. Her father worked for the railroad and made a middle-class living. Her mother, Irene, was kind and loving.

I spent a lot of time in their home, eating chicken fried steak and deciphering Simplicity dress patterns. Her parents and little brother showered me with affection.

It was a time and a place where we bonded to one another. Adolescence is hard, but Judy’s friendship made it easier.

We didn’t really have a lot in common. Her family attended the local Church of Christ. We were Catholic, in a place where most of the few Catholics were Hispanic.

Judy and I generally walked softly when discussing religion. Only once did I confronted her over her belief that Catholics wouldn’t go to heaven. (I forget why. Maybe we weren’t “saved” or something.) When I forced her to admit that she thought I would go to hell because I was Catholic, she cried and cried, and I apologized for being rude, and we didn’t talk about it again.

We grew up and eventually matured. I was living in Louisiana and took my then boyfriend (now my husband) to Texas to meet Judy’s parents. They were as much fun as ever, chicken fried steak and all.

Earlier, he had told Judy how much he was in love with me. She encouraged him, and he wore down my natural reserve and reticence. She was in our wedding.

Even though we eventually grew apart (she stayed in north Texas and I moved to Alabama), we were there for each another through that difficult and sometimes frightening journey from being goofy kids to being grown women.

Sometimes, circumstances and affinity can create and foster friendships that last for decades. I enjoy the company of friends who my husband and I have known for almost half a century. Sadly, however, beyond our early 20s, Judy and I didn’t have much that held us together.

But, like soldiers in a foxhole, we fought our way through our teenage years together, and I will always cherish that.

I didn’t get to see her before she died. Her illness debilitated her and claimed her quickly. And maybe, as 70-year-old women, we wouldn’t have had much to talk about other than whose grandchildren were cuter. Our views of the world were quite different.

However, Judy, when you look down on me today, know that I loved you and appreciated you. Like two survivors on a life raft, we pulled through the ordeal of growing up. Yes, we drifted apart, but my affection for you never wavered. You were unselfish, kind and loving.

You and your family nurtured me at a time I badly needed nurturing. You were my friend — my best friend — and what you did for me will be with me forever.

Frances Coleman is a former editorial page editor of the Mobile Press-Register. Email her at [email protected] and “like” her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/prfrances.