I’m looking, weepily (is that a word? It should be.), at the side of my fridge which is artfully decorated with graduation announcements. They have replaced the crayon artwork of indeterminate objects amid unsigned permission slips and school pictures that once hung there.
It is the season of commencement, of moving on, of starting something new, a time when something begins. These are not my children – I have a whole year left to prepare for that – but rather the children of my dearest college friends. Most of these friends I made my freshmen year, entering the dorm in barely concealed terror. I didn’t dare let any of THEM see that I was completely unready for this new adventure.
I first met Katie, who became my roommate for the next three years, bounding up the stairs in a pink polo shirt, plaid shorts, and carrying an armful of some kind of faux fur. She was beautiful and polished and thoroughly intimidating. I was sweaty from hauling furniture up three flights of stairs on a humid August day. I was definitely not beautiful and not polished, and certainly not even remotely intimidating. I’m pretty sure I didn’t smell so great, either.
But we became friends, even though we were wildly different. We met others, and decided by our senior year that we would apply for an Honor House. According to the college website “Honor houses allow third- and fourth-year students to live with peers who are working toward a common academic goal or service/special interest project.” I have no memory of our academic goal or service project. I do remember that the one event we organized had to do with time management. We were late.
The house was named in honor of a former Professor of the college, O.G. Felland, and we titled ourselves the Felland Lovelies. I think we hoped it would be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
There were twelve of us and one shower. Yes. Twelve… One… And we all still like each other.
We didn’t know going into that freshman year what awaited us, and that is good. We were full of fresh-faced optimism, cheerful natures, and we owned the world. By most accounts, we have had happy fulfilling lives, but everyone has some sorrow, and ours started early. Halfway through our senior year, Anne’s parents died suddenly on an icy road in southern Minnesota. This one tragic accident bonded us in a way most college kids don’t have to experience. Along the way, there have been miscarriages, premature babies, babies that didn’t survive, dying parents, a dying friend. When I look at it, we’ve experienced a lot of death in general. But there have been weddings, births, published books, TV appearances, careers, raucous laughter, and a million small precious moments of joy that add up to faces that have aged well and beautifully.
Back to the pictures on my fridge. These children, young adults really but they LOOK so young!, are commencing that same adventure. They appear much more confident and put together and worldly-wise and sophisticated than I felt at their age. More like Katie. But in them I so clearly see their mothers. It is like looking at an updated version of ourselves; Felland House 2.0. They lack the Izod polo shirts and Farrah Hair, but are so familiar and dear that it makes me cry.
I love these children, although I don’t know most of them very well. We’ve spread so far over the country that our paths don’t cross often, and usually sans kids. But I love what is best of their mothers in them. I love Amy’s ready wit, and Sherri’s gentle kindness, and Heidi’s loyalty, and Anne’s positive outlook. I love Mari’s educator’s heart, and Katie’s bohemianism, and Julie’s insightful way of looking at the world. I love Jody’s practicality, and Sara’s compassion, and Jill’s optimism. And I miss every single day Kristi’s wicked sense of humor.
I look at these announcements, so full of hope for the future and so full of the accomplishments of their short pasts, and I see the women who have shaped me and helped me become who I am. I see the faces, unlined and untested, of my sweet friends and I am grateful.
