Happy Birthday to the daughter of my dreams. Dreams do come true!! I love you infinitely.
This weekend my husband and I are visiting with, and reconnecting with a couple who were part of the “neighborhood gang”, when we were raising young families. Our family, and this couple and their family, lived in the same lovely locale in North Carolina, where we all raised our children, for the span of about a decade, over a decade ago. There were probably about ten families, or so, who were part of this core group and we did play groups, and book clubs, and happy hours, and we spent endless hours together at the neighborhood pool. We took trips together – camping with the kids (or more specifically, girls weekends without the kids, while the dads went camping with the kids – there were always lots of ‘interesting’ stories and photos after these events. Thankfully everyone came out of it all, alive and well, in order to relay the stories). There was also a couples’ getaway to the Caribbean, and an annual families’ trip to the mountains to cut down our Christmas trees – a favorite tradition for all of us, despite the creepy Santa, in the cabin at the foot of the mountains, who made everyone, kids and parents alike, more than a little leary. (My adult kids, to this day, can still perfectly mimic this Santa’s high-pitched, eerie whiny voice, “And what do youuuuuu want for Christmas, little one?”) Our children all attended the same, sweet, close-by elementary school, and we parents all had the peace of mind of knowing that on any given day, there was likely at least one extra set of eyes and ears and a loving, caring heart around our children, at any point in time, as many of us volunteered there at the school, throughout the years. It was honestly an idyllic place, and almost a “tribal” way to raise young children, and not too far off from the Norman Rockwell version of my softened memories and descriptions.
But as life inevitably rolls out and goes on, there were moves, and divorces, and squabbles, and aging kids scattering in all different directions, wherever their individual interests and activities and educations were taking them. Bye and bye, this group of young, energetic, hopeful parents of many, many beautiful, quickly growing and expanding offspring, mostly dispersed and moved on. Most of these relationships, at least for my husband and I, are now not much more than an annual Christmas card exchange. (I am not much one for Facebook and Instagram. I am a look forward person. Sometimes the past holds too many knots of nostalgia, that keep me all tangled up. . . I have learned that it is better for me, to stay clear of those knots.)
So, I am entering this weekend with anxious trepidation and overall excitement. I mentioned this to my local friends and to my hair stylist, and to my son’s girlfriend, and everyone had the same response: “Oh you’ll probably just start right where you left off! It will seem like you have never been apart.”
I hope so. I believe so. But no matter what happens this weekend, I’ll never forget what we all shared together in times past. My stomach is in knots already. But these knots of nostalgia and excitement and connection, I’ll hold on to for now. Sometimes glimpsing a little bit into your past, reminds you of all of the qualities of strength, and love, and hope, and the ability to connect with others, that you have always possessed in yourself – qualities that you have to bring with you, as you create your own broad, unseen, unknown future. Looking over the treasure of what you shared in the past, reminds you that fond memories are treasures that never go away.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
