Homesick times seven

Do you remember that sick feeling when you really left home for the first time? For some of you, maybe leaving was wonderful, but for me, it made me so sad I got sick. My first few nights away at college, I could barely eat I missed my family so much. Today, during random moments, I have had vivid memories of my first months away from my family or horrible break-ups which are far in the past. It seemed strange to keep having those thoughts during an average day.When I started to do the dishes tonight, I looked over the backyards I share with my neighbor. I looked for the familiar blond heads playing on the swings/slide/basketball court we share. It was all quiet. Oh yeah, they moved today. We even helped them do it. Suddenly, it was all clear why my insides were as worked-up and twisted as when I was eighteen and missing my mom.

That knotted feeling represents seven years of open doors, shared children and borrowed cooking ingredients. On the outside, you might not pair us as good friends, we don't ATV or boat--they do. They cheer BYU--we don't. We are democrats--they are not. They love soccer, we don't get it. We are brown and hazel, they are blonde and blue. They are active/athletic, we are geeky. These connections were not formed in typical interests. My husband and I are not even sure how the attachment happened. We share the same values and respect with our other neighbors. Yet, this bond created a family beyond our own.

We always felt we had more daughters than the genetic ones we have. I knew my children were loved and valued as one of their own. For example, my very pregnant neighbor while leaping to protect my small toddler, injured herself. As I saw her fall to the ground while holding my son, it symbolized our entire friendship. This woman, who was a stranger seven years ago, would protect my children as instinctively as I would. Late last night, as we sat reminiscing and feeling lonely, we tried to untangle the beginnings of our next door family. Did we become family because we loved one another's children as our own? Or, did the love begin after the attachment was made by some other event/source? Now, I'm sitting here trying to see through foggy tears. I'm hoping I still get to see those blonde kids of mine.

When I was eighteen, I judged the merit of people based on their music preferences. Years later, I rejoice to find out that one can form beautiful connections with people based on more significant merits. Although I am weepy today, I am grateful to know friendship can be wonderful and exceed ones expectations.