30 years later

I stood outside my house today watching my not so little bundle of joy flitting back and forth between trike rides and water play. I felt the sweat dripping off my forehead which comes from mowing an entire front and back (too big) yard. I stood motionless listening to the wind whipping through the trees. Lately every emotion brings me to an utter stop. I wonder if I will ever feel this exact way again. I am on the move. In a moment I may disappear. This may disappear.

A black Mercedes drove up and slowed way down. I am used to this. My FOR SALE sign begs that people slow down. But this time it was different. the car slowed down and stopped in front of my neighbor's house. I extracted myself from my emotions and made sure I could lay eyes upon my little girl. Then the engine cut out.

A blonde haired woman stepped out. "I hope you don't mind," she stated. "I grew up in this house. I just want to snap a few pictures."

I wished later that I had asked her name because our interaction was instantaneously friendly.

"Wow," I stated, "how long has it been?"

"I grew up here, moved out when I went to college, oh about 30 years ago."

30 years ago, I thought? That was just about the time that my parents moved me into this town. I immediately was drawn to this ironic stranger. We spoke about remodels, driveways, neighborhood kids, rotten porches, bathrooms,  grass, history. I didn't want to let her go. She was a part of me. She had grown up in my bestest neighbor's house and knew so much about my house and it's surroundings. I was mesmerized.

"Well, thanks so much," she called out when she finally made it back to her car. "Good luck with your move."

This is what I needed. I needed to meet her. I needed to watch her drive slowly down the street and then stop and get out to take a picture of her childhood home. A sense of relief washed over me. I connected to my house's history. She connected to her neighborhood's future. It was a pure moment. In that moment, I released my home. I released my hold.

I imagine that one day (in my 60s) I will drive down North 34th, slow down, get out, apologize and take a couple snapshots. I am hopeful that there will be someone outside willing to chat about histories and futures.

My Sincerest, To My Bestest Neighbor Ever.

Thank you for the willingness. Thank you for the conversation. Thank you for the afternoon sidewalk bicycle chats. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for the smiles. Thank you for the honesty and the understanding. Thank you for holding my children. Thank  you for ignoring my children. Thank you for your intelligence and your supportive teaching. Thank you for the parties. Thank you for the late night beer. Thank you for your cheerfulness and your realism. Thank you for your phone number and the key to your house. Thank you for moving your car for basketball championships. Thank you for the early morning commitment (even when I wasn't able to follow through). Thank you for the home baked warm cookies. Thank you for the spontaneous play dates. Thank you for the sidewalk chalk. Thank you for the warm and caring, genuine person that your are. I will miss our greetings - our comings and goings. I will miss sharing our driveway. I will miss sharing our kids. I will miss your curly spunky hair. I will miss laughing with you. I will miss our summers. I will miss your routines. Most of all though, I will miss you. You are a dear friend. Thank you.