A Hello and a Goodbye

A few weeks back, I received an email from a darling childhood friend with whom I'd lost touch after high school. We'd reconnected briefly around the time of our 10-year reunion in 1999, then slipped out of touch again.

Well, I was thrilled to hear from Brandie again in July and have enjoyed spending the past month getting reacquainted and catching up on each others' lives. You can imagine the lengthy emails back and forth between two childhood friends with limitless memories of 5th grade class trips, sleepovers, crushes and swapping chicken pox (which we both acquired from my younger brother, Brandie playfully recalled).

Amidst all the reminiscing and getting caught up on the eventful years that have passed since our last correspondence, Brandie wrote something that truly uplifted me:

"I loved your dad, he was always so warm and welcoming, typical of an Israeli Jewish family, always welcoming people to their homes.... And that is a major reason I always used to think of you- you have a very unique family who are very loving people..."

I've been remembered for many things by different people throughout my lifetime, most of them positive, I'm happy to report (unless it's just a matter of no one telling me the bad stuff!). But that comment from Brandie filled me with a sense of pride for the fact that, 20+ years later, someone still recalled the warmth my family showed her.

Over the years, other friends have shared recollections with me about quality time they spent in our family's house, gathered around the kitchen table or splayed out on the floor, chillin' in the backyard, shooting hoops in the driveway, chatting late into the night in one of our bedrooms. My sister, brother and I have loads of mutual friends from our younger years, all of whom have spent considerable time in our house and have been regarded as one of the family.

Ironically, while certain friends remain for years, there are times when real family members must sadly go their separate ways. Two weeks ago, I said goodbye to my now ex-sister-in-law, as she packed up and returned to her hometown of San Diego after splitting from my brother. In the brief time she was legally part of our family, Erin became a warmly-received member of the clan. My parents, sister and extended family welcomed her and treated her thoughtfully from the beginning, in keeping with our family's long-practiced tradition of embracing friends with open arms. (And not just friends. I recall one evening in my high school years when my father rose from the dinner table to answer our ringing doorbell. Faced with a young black man selling brooms or something to raise money for some school event or another, my father listened to his pitch, politely declined his offer and then invited the complete stranger on our doorstep to join us for dinner. That's my family.)

I forged a deeper bond with Erin than most of my family had, simply due to my location and our common interests (which were fewer than one would think two people could have and still get along so famously). We enjoyed each other's company immensely and shared countless laughs as well as quite a few weighty conversations. Erin became a cherished friend, which will not change. But while I mourn the loss of her as my sister, I also feel sad for her loss--the profound loss of my family's kind and caring embrace.

Posted by ayelet at August 29, 2005 04:07 PM