Letting Go

I'm not very good at letting go. In fact, I kind of suck at it. I blame my nomadic military brat childhood, but in reality, it's probably just part of my genetic fiber. I spent my primary years desperately trying to put down roots in a new place only to have them pulled up seemingly minutes later. I was a dandelion; springing up all over the place, spreading roots as far as I could, but not really sticking around for the whole season. I have no doubt it was good for me, and helped shaped me into the person I am today, but it also made me wish for deeper roots and lasting friendships.

I remember moving from Beeville, TX in 4th grade, and vowing to write my friends everyday to keep them in my life. I did write, not everyday, but enough to send them a wedding invitation years later. That situation repeated with every new home. We moved. I made friends. We moved away. I missed them. Their memory wasn't enough. It was and still is incomprehensible to me that friendship should change because of distance, circumstance, or plain old life. But-I am beginning to think that might be how life works.

Recently, my daughter attended a birthday party for a little girl I've known since my first minutes as a stay-at-home-mom. They have spent a lifetime playing together-literally. They were potty-trained together, and napped together. My daughter's first sleepover was at her house, and they both orchestrated a lemonade stand during a garage sale. Twice. They've made sugar cookies, mini-pizzas, play-do castles, and beaded jewelry. They consoled eachother on the hardships of younger brothers, and shared the wonderful excitement of kindergarten. They dreamed of how they could be "real sisters" someday.

While this wonderful bonding was happening between the girls, a unique friendship evolved between their moms. A friendship sharing our children, our parenting, and the hardships that accompany motherhood. A friendship that was raw and real-as friendships among moms can be. In those moments, there's no glossing over the fact that your baby won't stop crying long enough for a phone conversation; no laughing off #2 in your 2 year old"s "big girl panties"; no miracle cosmetic to hide those dark circles, and no solution to hide your exhaustion, your worry, and your insecurity. We shared everyday stuff. The boring stuff. Lunch, naptime, playdates, stroller rides, Old Navy sales, sunscreen, broken dishwashers, dirty houses...the stuff of life. We talked about losing weight, cheap vacation spots, scheduling date nights, and how to get our husbands to just "get it." It could have been my house or her house, and the kids felt at home. That was truly a gift. For all of us.

Then we moved. I moved. Again. Since that move, I've struggled with keeping this friendship. She and I have been in different places both geographically and mentally. We visited at the gym, and tried setting up playdates, but something always interfered. Once, she completely forgot our plans. Of course, she felt terrible and promised to reschedule. And of course, I told her it was nothing, and that I'd wait to hear from her. I tried to brush it off, but being me, it ate at me little by little. When we would meet or talk on the phone, things seemed strained. Something was different. Occassionally, a piece of familiar comfort would breeze into our conversation, but it was fleeting and untouchable. Then, most recently at that birthday party, we were two strangers in the room watching our daughters celebrate "8". I was overwhelmed with a sadness; I felt I was grieving for someone or something that still seemed to be "there", and it just seemed so wrong.

I've visited these feelings since that day, and mulled over the road our friendship has traveled. My mother's words "everything happens for a reason" have echoed in my mind, and I've realized that perhaps friendship is also seasonal. Liane, my friend in first grade, was the best thing I could hope for. We were both nerdy, chubby, and shy. Because of her, I had someone to play with at recess. Margaret, my friend in 5th grade, lived near the school, and we would retreat to her house before the long hours of the day. Because of her, I learned about lip gloss and seaweed. Amber, my friend in 7th grade, lived on the military base just a few streets down. Because of her, I fell in love with George Michael and almost went to University of Texas. I've wondered if these girls ever think of me, and though I've lost touch with them, they are a part of my memory, and in some ways, I miss them. I've spent a lifetime clinging to friendships as I've moved through the ever changing status of my life, but I'm wondering if it's ok to let some of them go. Maybe there is a Greater Plan, and these friendships are part of that. Maybe friendships are seasonal, some annual, others perennial. Maybe I shouldn't be sad as things change, but grateful for the time and experience I was given.

When I think of my children as toddlers, I will remember this friendship and the time we shared raising our babies. I will remember her advice, her laugh, her tears, and her support. I will remember all this with a smile. Her friendship was a wonderful Gift for a special season in my life, and I will always hold that close to my heart, but I won't keep grasping for more. Because of her, I knew my children were normal and my trials in motherhood were also normal. Because of her, my everyday was more than ordinary. Because of her, I'm a better mother. Life forces us change and grow, and I suppose that's a good thing. I also suppose that sometimes we don't get to decide where our roots grow or how they change, and that's a good thing too.