Last weekend, we went to a birthday party and I saw some high school friends of ours. There was a time when the husband was one of my closest friends in the world, and I adore the wife also. They are sweet, funny, goofy, and some of the most generous hearted people I know.
Kidding. Of course.
We've kept loosely in touch over the years, and I know they've had more than their fair share of struggles. The week before their wedding, she lost her dad to cancer. A few years later, when their two year old was in infant, he lost his dad to suicide. Six months ago, they had a miscarriage.
Even though we're not that close now, I've done my best to love on them through it all, and they've let me know they appreciate it. So, I know how hard it has been for them. It's not a secret.
And yet. They have this amazing resilience, both as a couple and as individuals. They are open and positive. They are still goofy. She is an amazing, creative mom. They post on facebook and get dozens of responses from people who truly love them. And I admire them so for this, especially her, for the ability to overcome tragedy and for the ease with which she adjusted to full time motherhood and most of all for her ability to walk into a room and draw people to her.
I truly admire her. Okay, let's just be honest here. I'm jealous.
Yes, beneath my loving, empathetic, self-aware self there is someone dark and petty too. And no matter how many times I say we need to stop comparing, I can't help but compare.
So, imagine my surprise when hugging our goodbyes last Saturday, she turned to me and said, "I wish you guys lived closer. I get lonely sometimes. I haven't had the easiest time making mom friends."
Ahem. Okay, universe. Score one for you. I'm listening.