I'm starting to see who my people are going to be here in Japan. You know what I mean by that...the people that I borrow eggs from when I run out, the people that watch my kiddos on the spur of the moment, the people that sit on my floor and help me fold laundry while we gossip, the people that I let into my messy, chaotic, imperfect but full life.
After my initial "collapse into a stupor"...that lasted six months or so... I was ready to move on and get involved in some things. I went to a "Dining In" event here this Saturday, which is complicated to explain, but short version: the spouses of your group (Medical Group, in our case) are assigned a theme that you decorate your table and self for, you have dinner, drinks, games, and dancing, and I laughed my arse off all night with these women. It felt wonderful.
Paradoxically, this actually makes me miss my Rochester women more than ever. Not because the women here are somehow less...they are truly awe inspiring in their strength and knowledge...but because I never did the heavy lifting with saying goodbye to my friends back in the Roc.
So, I'm literally craning my neck and flexing my fingers like this is going to hurt, because ...well, because it will hurt, in the best way possible. It's the kind of hurt that only comes from loving someone or something deeply.
I have done this before, of course. I said goodbye to my girls from Chapel Hill back in 2003, which gave me a good idea of things would probably unfold with THIS goodbye. Some friendships fade away entirely, the time and the distance eroding whatever it was that you once shared. You will see the occasional social media posts documenting major life events and feel a stab of loss even as you acknowledge your own failure to maintain the friendship. There will be some people that you miss all the time, yet somehow still rarely speak to...so much less often than you think of them. But when you do speak, and when you do meet up, it is like you just saw them yesterday. And if you are quite lucky, there will be one or two friendships that survive virtually unchanged, and those people you continue to turn to in all your best and worst moments. You still call those people your best friends, and you always will.
Knowing all of that, I also knew this: that there is no substitute for daily interaction. You lose something precious when you lose your daily "what should we do today" text, your every few days playdates (for the kids, of course!), your weekly dinners with your families, (maybe even with your husbands if they're lucky enough to be off work), your every few weeks gatherings of many families for a birthday, or a holiday, or just for fun.
You lose the details. The show you both watched last night, the cronuts you always get on Saturday, the new word their child learned last week, the new shoes, the day you fit back into your pre-pregnancy jeans, the silly, the mundane, the precious, fleeting dailyness of lives shared.
This goodbye was harder for knowing all of that.
With my college friends, the major life events that were to come were almost all good. Traveling to different countries, establishing careers, meeting new lovers, marrying some of those lovers, having children; it seems that for us, our twenties were all about growth, new beginnings, and anticipation. There were a lot of diplomas and push pins in maps and white dresses and pink and blue clothes in our futures.
Now, in my mid thirties, life is getting harder. I know more. Some of those early, hopeful marriages have faltered and failed. Some of the ultrasound screens have been still. Some of the diagnoses for loved ones have been grim and frightening. And some of them we have lost. If your twenties are all about planting, the harvest in our thirties has not always been kind.
This goodbye was harder for knowing that too.
But while the Lord taketh away, he does also giveth, and that more frequently. Thank God for that. And mostly in Rochester, mostly...He gave.
Rochester is a medical city. Everything revolves around the Mayo Clinic. The economy, the traffic patterns, and certainly the lives of its residents.I kid you not, even the flocks of crows that trouble the city circle around the Clinic at night.
I acknowledge the above freely, but for me, Rochester was and always will be a city of women. The men ...and orthopedics is still male dominated...were in the hospital pretty much all the time. They left before dawn, got home long after dark and worked almost every day in one way or another. It was the women that were out and about, doing the errands, organizing the social events, and making life happen. And it was the women that helped me survive the winters, the miscarriages, the pregnancies, the babies, the toddlers, the physical distance from my family, the occasional emotional distance from my husband, and the total distance from my past identity as a career driven and "independent" woman. I learned so much from these women. Just...so much.
I learned how to be a mother from the women around me. That alone would be a priceless gift, but there was more. I learned how to celebrate life and grieve loss. I learned how to ask for help and help others without being asked. I learned how to love another woman's children as if they were my own, and I was moved to tears when they returned the favor. I watched my children grow and develop friendships with their children. I learned that we choose some members of our families.
And at the end, with tears rolling my down my face, with each "last hug for now" from my dear friends and each sweet child's cheek kissed, I was reminded that goodbyes are hard. Distance is hard. Letting go of the daily ties that bind us together is hard. Life, this part of it anyway, is really damn hard.
But it's better with people. Even if it's not for always, even if it's just a season of closeness, you take the lessons with you. As it turns out, love is portable. But then...I already knew that.
I didn't mind learning it again though.
