Warm weather and old friends

The temperature topped out around 80 this afternoon, making my afternoon walk warmer than I would like in late October. In the past week, the trees have dropped almost all of their leaves. The pathways through the wood are thick with brittle, russet brown leaves punctuated every few steps by a yellow or brick-red maple or beech leaf, the brightness of the color a surprise amidst all the earthy browns. Stick season is right around the corner. Where it was once a brief stop between autumn and the first snowfall, we seem to spend most of winter stalled in the season of the sticks, this prolonged extension brought on by the same change that has Halloween seeing temperatures in the upper 70s.

Seventeen years ago, on a similarly warm Halloween, I walked around our neighborhood in the late afternoon, getting out before the trick-or-treaters took over the sidewalks. L was getting ready to arrive and I wanted to encourage my labor by walking. I asked him please to wait until at least 12:01 am to arrive, as I thought Halloween would be a tough birthday for a little person. I should have known that of all my boys, L would have been fine sharing his birthday with ghosts and goblins, costumes and jump scares. D and my sister, B, who was up to help out, took little Z out to trick or treat. I stayed home and timed my increasingly steady and strong contractions. I was sad to miss Z’s third Halloween. It was the beginning of splitting my attention between two children. Something that I would struggle with mightily for the first year or so of L’s life.

This year, I have no costumed children leaving out my front door, no gaggle of youngsters heading out into the night to knock doors and receive candy just by asking. One of my boys is sitting at his desk—or perhaps leaning back on a reading pillow—studying for the two exams he has tomorrow: physics and statics (both sound appropriately spooky and frightening to me!) Another has taken over our living room and invited several of his friends to be frightened by a jailed, cannibalistic Anthony Hopkins leading FBI trainee Jody Foster to a serial killer. One of the scariest thrillers I have seen, for sure. And the third is holed up in his room, playing games on his computer with friends. My worry is landing with that one lately. He has been moody and short, not particularly unexpected given that he is just a few weeks shy of 15. But his social life seems more limited, his willingness to instigate any social activities almost non-existant. Things he used to enjoy, he declines to engage in. He doesn’t want to see a band we saw together before COVID. He isn’t interested in trying out for the next theater production at school. I know. It’s his first year of high school. Transition is hard. He is a teenager. All these things, I know. And yet, a small itch of worry lingers in the back of my mind. Am I doing enough? Is he okay? Is he happy? Is there anything I could be doing to make him feel more a part of his friend group?

I spent the past weekend with two of my oldest friends. After talking about a girls’ weekend for several years, we finally got together in the Catskills. We spent the week or so leading up to it texting back and forth, expressing our excitement for this long-awaited weekend together. I had moments of wondering if I was *too* excited, if my anticipation would not possibly be able to match reality.

I was wrong, of course.

It was every bit as wonderful as I had hoped it would be. We laughed so hard we cried. We reminisced about the good, the bad, the awful, and the hilarious. We recounted our earliest memories of each other. We caught up about our day-to-day lives. We shared the highs and lows of parenting teenagers, the challenges and joys of marriages that were now decades old. We talked about the empty nests that are looming in our horizons. And we just reveled in our friendship, our bonds that have stood strong for 40 or so years.

Four decades.

It is wild to realize that so much time has passed.

When you’ve been friends since childhood, a grace exists between you that newer friendships rarely carry. You’ve seen each other through so many phases—ups and downs; heartbreaks and breakups; welcoming babies and watching children grow; marriages that start with a glow, and are later worn by work, parenting, and life’s many demands. You are there for each other, like sisters. And you have shared so many experiences together. From every day in high school to each other’s weddings, visits to your hometown to reunions in the cities you each moved to—New York, Baltimore, Boston, Burlington. Years of conversations, revisiting and reassessing how you grew up, sharing the early days of parenting. Through these countless moments, your attachment has only grown stronger and sturdier. The rough edges have softened, leaving behind an incredible joy in each other’s presence. A few words can spark a memory, bringing instant laughter, tears following easily. It’s not just memories that bond you—it’s the freedom to say what you think, laugh at yourselves, and know, deeply, that you love each other unconditionally.

Photo by Mikesh Kaos on Unsplash

We shared slow, unhurried mornings with our tea or coffee. We took our time getting out the door for a hike. We were content with driving around taking in the scenery while catching up with each other. We hiked for the experience and the company, not the exercise or the step count. We shared food together in a cozy breakfast spot and a charming neighborhood bistro. We looked up in amazement and awe at the Milky Way and the stars. We relaxed in the hot tub—or in an outdoor chair bundled up in a winter coat. We prioritized each other. We listened. We laughed. We shared.

And it was every bit as wonderful as I had anticipated. I soaked up every moment. I hugged these women so tightly when they each arrived. And even harder when we parted. My cup was filled. My heart overflowed. And I felt so grateful that somehow, these women are still in my life. After all this time.

Photo by Chandan Chaurasia on Unsplash

I think about these women when I worry about my youngest. I was not a happy kid in high school. I felt alone a lot of the time. I was often sad, often melancholy. I was probably depressed. It is not a time that I would ever want to go back to. I don’t know that I shared much of these heavy feelings with my friends then; I kept a lot of it to myself. And yet, somehow, these friendships persisted. Despite all of my darkness, what I held on to were these amazing women. Women who can recall the modern dance our much-older gym teacher made us do our freshmen year. The same gym teacher who brought in her own mustard yellow and army green long-sleeve shirts. She made us wear them for our volleyball unit in gym class because our skinny arms were bruised from the volleyball. Friends who can look back and acknowledge how hard it was to grow up when and where we did. Friends who can now laugh at some of that hardness. Through it all, we had each other. We have memories of good times together, but our friendship has grown and aged as we have. We have continued to share experiences as we constructed lives of our own with partners and families. We have maintained these bonds that started so many years ago.

I know M has friends. I know I see only the very surface of those connections. And perhaps, much like my teenage self, he doesn’t know how those attachments are buoying him through some of the harder parts of growing up. Perhaps, those relationships will continue to build and grow as he does. Maybe one day, he too, will get together with his high school friends in celebration of their 50 years around the planet and feel indescribable joy and gratitude to share life with these friends.

I hope so.

M and R, thank you for it all.

You know I adore you.

I know I am who I am today because I know you.

For Good

I'm limited
Just look at me
I'm limited, and just look at you
You can do all I couldn't do, Glinda
So now it's up to you
For both of us
Now it's up to you

I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good

It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend

Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But
Because I knew you
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good

And just to clear the air
I ask forgiveness
For the things I've done you blame me for
But then, I guess we know there's blame to share
And none of it seems to matter anymore

Like a comet pulled from orbit (like a ship blown from its mooring)
As it passes a sun (by a wind off the sea)
Like a stream that meets a boulder (like a seed dropped by a bird)
Halfway through the wood (in the wood)
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
I do believe I have been changed for the better
And because I knew you
Because I knew you, because I knew you
I have been changed
For good

~Stephen Schwarz

All photos were taken by the exceptional Dana Giuliana, unless otherwise noted.

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