I’ve been having a hard time this week for reasons too numerous to list. White-knuckling through each day is not exactly how I imagined our last week of summer, and I’m trying really hard to keep it happy, fun, and good, but it is a struggle.
Tonight Paul said, “don’t feel so bad. You miss your friends. The boys miss their friends. It’ll be okay.”
And it hit me. Of course. Of course he’s right.
For the past eight years I’ve had my friends, the women I had vetted and chosen to help me co-raise my children. On my tough days they always knew what to say to work me out of the corner I’d found myself painted. They made me a better mother. They supported me and strengthened me. They taught me what I needed to know.
But they are 1414 miles away. My kids can’t play with theirs to burn off steam. And they aren’t here to talk me down from my ledge and help me make something beautiful out of the mess I’ve made.
We’ve been here for four and a half months and it suddenly hit me how lonely I am and how much I miss my friends.