There are certain signs in your life you’ve reached middle age and you’re much closer to the end of the road than you are the beginning.

 

I think maybe the first sign my life was well past its midway point was when hearing the song “Country Roads” didn’t just make me think me of West Virginia University winning a game. It was when the song made me appreciate, despite everything we’re told, this is home and no matter where life may take me it always will be. Cheesy, yes, but true.

 

The second thing was when I realized what middle aged really meant. It was when my middle – that being my stomach – started giving away my age.

 

Perhaps the biggest eye opener, and what this blog is going to focus on, is that non-worship-related visits to church were no longer almost exclusively for a wedding or a baptism. Rather, it was when those visits became almost exclusively to pay respects to friends who passed away far too soon or because a parent or other family member of a friend passed away.

 

Before I go further, let me say very succinctly for everything I complain about in this world I have never complained about my friends. I’ve been blessed with people in my life I’ve known for nearly every single day on this planet and they’re still with me – most of them locally – and simply a phone call away.

 

They are an extension of who I am. And it goes well beyond just them and into their families.

 

I was reminded of this very thing this week. I received a phone call from one of the three individuals I’ve been friends with longer than anyone, which in and of itself isn’t unusual seeing his name showing up on caller ID.

 

My friend Patsy Trecost, who many of you know is a Harrison County Commissioner, let me know his mother, Sally, had passed away. She was laid to rest Wednesday.

 

Pat and I talked more than once this week. We talked about friends, our friendship and we talked about his mother. You see, and I’m sure I’m not alone here and many can relate, Sally Trecost – or as we called her “Corky” – was my second mother.

 

They were your friends’ mothers. My three lifelong friends – Patsy, Doug Sprouse and the late Rusty Mazzie – all the same age and all the same grade were all from North View and all from different areas of the neighborhood. It honestly didn’t matter.

 

Their home was my home. My home was their home.

 

Sally Trecost was the last of my first group of “second moms” to pass. She made me realize how important they all were in my life and when you learn of their passing what you feel for them all comes crashing into your being like a wrecking ball.

 

Sally Trecost wasn’t alone. Karen Sprouse and Mary Mazzie were there for so many neighborhood kids; ready to offer advice, a kind word and even the ability to put you in line if necessary. Each of those women were different, yet each of those women loved us unconditionally as if we were their own.

 

As a kid, it just felt normal. As you grew older and time provides wisdom, they weren’t just opening their doors to feed you and let you have fun with their own children. They were opening the door to you as one of their own.

 

Those “second moms” mattered. They mattered in every way possible. I know my mother, to this day, is flattered beyond belief when she runs into one of my friends and they call her “mom.” Like the ladies I’ve mentioned here, she’s earned it because she loves them all.

 

It’s bittersweet to say goodbye to the last of my original set of additional mothers God blessed me with. Bitter in the fact that they’re gone, sweet in the fact they helped shape me by simply being kind.

 

To Sally Trecost, Karen Sprouse and Mary Mazzie and so many other women out there still doing this and for those that have similar people still in your lives, what made it all the more special is we all knew you had your own families to tend to. Yet you always took time for so many others like me and welcomed us in at any time.

 

Gone, but not forgotten may be a tired, and worn out cliché. Yet, it’s appropriate. I’ll never forget the kindness you showed and the smiles you produced and are still producing just thinking about you.

 

Women like you can’t be forgotten. You were a gift from God to your families and I’ll be forever thankful you shared your gift with all of us.

 

Until we meet again, I’ll try to keep your sons in line.

 

Editor's Note: Top photo is of Sally Trecost, while middle photo shows Mary Mazzie surrounded by, from left, Jason Webber, her late son Rusty and the blog's author Jeff Toquinto. It should be noted that Jason Webber's mother, Trena Kirby, is a surviving second mother that the blogger is blessed to have in his life to this day. Third photo is of Karen Sprouse, while the bottom high school photo shows, from left, Doug Sprouse, Rusty Mazzie, the blogger Jeff Toquinto, and Patsy Trecost.