Rachel

The laughing hadn’t occurred that long and that hard for some time. Both on the threshold of 42, nearly peeing our pants while giggling in her kitchen posing for pictures.

The journey here, years in the making.

It began at a midwestern college campus when overalls were cool before they were cool again.

Spring breaks in Ft. Myers, summers corresponding with letters written by pen, and daydreams over espresso and fondue.

She was the first to show me how to live life less seriously.

Her crazy antics- the DQ runs, the pranks on boys and all the baby oil and Sun In one could lather on to tan skin and lighten hair. We lived in the moment when Rachel was present.

Years and years went on and when Sid was a bump in my belly, I thought of her and the laughter and knew instantly no other could be godmother to the first little lady to join our tribe.

She showed up on the day of her birth. Having driven more than five hours to simply sit with me and bask in the beauty of this baby.

And over the years that’s what she has continued to do. Time and time again she showed up.

When my father died she journeyed far to simply sit in my presence while we grieved.

She showed up again one week after my 14 year marriage ended. She held my hand, stroked my hair, feed my three precious babies and made me believe that the laughter would return.

And when it did return, when I found myself at 40 marrying a man who brought me more joy then I deserved, she listened to me gush and reminded me of the journey.

No one has lived friendship more beautifully than this woman.

She gives and gives and gives and she teaches me to love without boundaries.

When grief overwhelmed her this past weekend and the agony of the moment set in, she gave again. She let me return the favor.

I got to hold her hand and rub her back.

She let me spew words of insignificance.

When we were done being 41 she let me feel 22 again.

I wish for everyone to find a Rachel.

And for my Rachel I wish for millions of moments filled with laughter like she has given me.

Hundreds of miles away as I type I can still feel the breath catch in my throat from the giggles.

Thank you beautiful friend.

Know that this too shall pass.

 

 

 

 

 

Here

The leaving is hard to explain.

Fulfilling work, beautiful friendships and things still left to learn

but, the longing persisted. I listened and left.

After a decade, leaving behind a “dream job”, because it wasn’t where he was calling me to be.

People were perplexed by the choice.

Four months later I find myself most Tuesday and some Friday morning’s, on an almost three hour road trip through Ohio’s heartland.

At 5:00 a.m., while children slumber and the rest of the world sips their Starbucks, I am alone on winding, country roads.

The years of early morning runs have prepared me for this meditation.

It’s nothing more than mental when one small town turns into another small town and the sun has yet to rise.

I dodge deer, map out the day ahead and daydream about beach vacations with my beautiful girls and their handsome papa.

Just about the time I’m ready for the morning commute to be over, I see the fog in the valley and make the final turn up the hill and I’m onto campus.

Waiting for me there will be meetings and memos.

The day will be long.

The learning curve steep.

And when dusk begins to settle over that little hilltop, I will hop back in the car and make the journey home.

I will be greeted by smiling girls and a sense of satisfaction knowing that for now this is where he is calling me to be.