Friends: Above and Beyond

This blog is about a group of women who are quintessential friends. What they have done is testimony of who they are. Let me tell you....

In 2001 I accepted a position in A Town 50 Miles Away (herein after known as ATFMA). Within a year I moved from a poisiton as an individual contributor to the manager of the department. For the next seven years I worked with a group of remarkable professionals--women who just needed to know what phenomenal skills and abilities they already possessed and that they had permission to use those skills and abilities to solve problems, acquire information, and perform their jobs with top-notch efficiency and effectiveness. All I had to do was to run interference for them and simply stand back and watch them excel.

In 2003 I made the life-changing decision to leave my husband--Him--and move to ATFMA. I rented a delightful apartment in ATFMA, cleaned out Our Home, and began the packing process. Because my co-workers were ATFMA area natives, I asked them about movers. They reacted with what resembled outrage, taking umbrage that I even asked them about such a thing. "Our husbands all have trucks. You will not hire anyone to move you. We will do it."

And they did. Over three weekends, they took turns. Not only did they move me to Lancaster, they moved Him to his new apartment in the Home Town, including a washer and dryer! When we got to Lancaster with the last load of my junk--they kidded me that I had more books than the law would allow--they stayed until the new chandelier was hung over the dining room table and the lock on the back door was repaired and secure (shout out to Husbands of Friends!).

These Friends took delight in my nesting process, oohing and ahhing over furniture arrangement, new accessories, and all the touches that went into making The Apartment mine. Over the years, they gifted me with a beautiful table for "just the right place," as well as tableware, decorative pieces, and curtains, duvet cover, and bed pillows. Oh, yes, and big metal letters of my favorite word--MORE.

As you can gather, we became more than co-workers, we became family. We celebrated work victories, marriage, grandbabies, birthdays, staff meetings--if there weren't an official reason, we made up reasons to celebrate our lives with each other.

In 2008 my run with The Company in ATFMA came to an end. Once again I was faced with moving, this time to Mother and Daddy's house, made vacant by their move to an extended care facility and made vacant again by Daughter I's move to The Far Country. Some of the Friends had moved on professionally to other departments, taking more senior positions because of their work in our department. Yet when moving time came, they were there once again, packing those same books, and all the additional stuff that I had accumulated in ATFMA. Real Friends, doing Real Friend work.

Fast forward to 2010. I'd been gone from the company and from ATFMA for two years. The Friends and I kept in touch, but we weren't in each others' lives like before. They continued to toil at the company as it had been gutted by a takeover. I worked again as an individual contributor in a place that did business by e-mail thereby precluding relationships.

On Christmas Eve Daughter II announced I was to become a grandmother, and life changed as I knew it. Over the next eight months a scheme was hatched for me to move to Here to be near The Grandson--oh, yes, and his parents, too. I packed the car and headed out, leaving the household goods to be packed and moved when the house was sold.

What I thought would be a long and drawn out process wasn't. After just a month or so of being on the market, an offer was made and accepted on the house. I made plans for a week-long visit Back There to pack up and close on the house. Enter the Friends!

Yes, they showed up once again. One Friend even supplied most of the boxes (thank you to Her Husband!). Starting at 9:00 a.m., by 2:00 p.m. they had the bulk of the stuff in boxes, having sorted the good, the bad, and the definitely ugly. And all the while, they laughed and joked and visited as friends do at quilting bees, barn raisings and dinners on the ground. They loved on The Grandson as if he were theirs--which he is partially. We stood in a circle, as we had many times before, and I repeated the words I had told God in different places at different times.

"Thank you, Lord, for these Friends. They cannot know what their friendship has meant to my life. Let them know that, no matter where I am, they will live in my heart."

"Back There" Is No More

Back There is no more. The house that was home to Mother and Daddy for 30 years is the new home to a 20-Something with sports and rock band posters. Cleaned to a sparkle by The Loyal Helper.

The stuff that made it their home has been sorted, sold, saved & stashed and discarded. The stuff that made it Daughter I’s home that was left behind from her move to The Far Country has been boxed for later retrieval when she lights closer and for a long enough time. The stuff that made it my home has been examined, found wanting and tossed or found essential, and boxed for The Long Move to Here.

Three trailer loads of trash. Papers frayed and yellowed with age. Every card sent to Mother and Daddy when the Youngest Son died as a baby in 1954. Cards sent to Older Son when he lay at death’s door in the Navy. Mother’s every Mother’s Day and birthday card. Pictures of younger selves, forgotten friends, landscapes never named. Receipts, bills, church bulletins, buttons, patterns, moldy damp books gritty with years of neglect and outdoor storage. Course syllabi with scribbled notes. Costume jewelry with missing “sets” or only one earring. Almost 100 pairs of the most elegant high-heeled shoes of very color and pattern every worn—to match the hats and gloves of every color. A box of cufflinks and tie tacks. 

You get the picture—80 years of the stuff of theirs—but not them, not their lives. Just stuff. So because it wasn’t them, tossing became a mindless, ruthless exercise to separate the exquisite wheat from the overwhelming chaff.

Since we became expert tossers, Daughter II encouraged, cajoled, wheedled until much of my stuff I thought was vital to existence as I know it also found its way into the trash heap. I actually threw away stationery—I know, it’s a shock. I kept panic at bay, quelled the urge to hyperventilate as the lovely sheets and envelopes and folders and such went to The Dump. I even gave away and tossed BOOKS. Sacrilege upon sacrilege!

What’s left? Daddy’s sermon outlines. Mother’s real jewels. An original Fiestawear wedding present vase. Silver, china, crystal. Enough to make Martha Stewart envious.

The saved stuff was gone within 4 hours of the movers' arrival. I went to close on the house, and when I returned, the rooms were empty and hollow.

I thought I’d be sad. I thought I’d be depressed. I thought I’d cry. Daughter II asked if the process was cathartic. Nope. It’s just one huge step to finally closing the Estate and, as Big Brother said, “getting on with your life.” I truly don’t feel anything right now. Except bone weary and brain dead. Maybe the Great Unpacking at the my place Here will trigger something. Maybe not.

Maybe I’m grateful for meds. For sure and certain I'm grateful for Friends. Read on….