Unpacking

I empathize with what I think military kids must feel, that never really belonging, always set apart kind of feeling.  I feel for my kids, who've grown up as casualties of the wanderlust my husband and I used to feel- maybe, in the case of my hubby, still feel.  Every two years, feeling that pull to move elsewhere- better jobs, lower cost of living, interesting, new area of the country, near family, far enough away from family to breathe, to heal, etc., etc.

At least, if my kiddos were military kids, they'd be surrounded with other military kids who'd lived transitory, temporary lives, like they had- there'd be a norm even in the transitory-ness- a commonality.  Instead, we move into an area, and they are met with groups of kids, potential friends, who have close cliques of acquaintances, shared experiences, established patterns of relating to each other, inside jokes, and standing orders for playdates, sleepovers, and an open freedom of belonging in each other's homes, families, and lives.  Even though I know how uncomfortable and scary it must be for them- as I feel some of the same emotions, they muster their courage and poke at the new group or community of potential peers- some with a tentative tip-toeing, some in a falsely boisterous swagger- to see if there is room for them inside and where they might fit- as they are measured up by and are measuring up those already there.

The older my kids have gotten, and the more times they've moved and had to do the whole starting from scratch of finding community, the harder it is for them, this uncertainty of where they'll be in two years.  "Is it even worth the energy, stress, heartache of making new friends or acquaintances?" "Will these friends, unlike so many before them, actually want to know me and keep up with me and be my friend if or when I move yet again?"

My children, and I too for that matter, have few to no long-term friendships.  It's not for lack of wanting, but for lack of time. Just about the time friendships are being formed, deepened, hearts cracked open to reveal the intimacies of who we are, who they are in turn, we move.  Or, there is talk of moving.  I crave, on a very deep level, roots and long-lasting, strong friendships.  I pray for friends for myself and for my hubby and kids.

My kids can tell you how many homes they've lived in.  For 17yr old Sara, she's lived in eight houses.  15yr old Cameron has lived in 7, 14yr old Evelynn's lived in 6, 12yr old Sonia's lived in 5, 7yr old Bridget's lived in 4, and my littlest, Sean, who is 5, has lived in 3 houses.  I am weary of moving- VERY weary.  We are all weary of moving.

We've moved again.  For 5 months now, we've lived in this house.  I've told my husband that I will not move again.  I would contemplate moving a few miles, but this is my home now- this church is my parish now.  If I was an explorer, I would plant a flag and claim this land as mine.  Period.  When I introduced myself to the neighbors, MY neighbors, I explained that they would have to get used to us or sick of us, as we weren't going anywhere, that if they ever turned on the news and saw a story about a woman chained to her house, to assume it was me and that my husband had even hinted at moving.  I am not going anywhere-- heels dug in, line-in-the-sand, no, wait, line-in-concrete not moving.

I am so incredibly done with packing and unpacking and having belongings be just as temporary as many of our relationships with others because they break or are destroyed a little more with each trip up or down a stairwell or in or out of a moving truck.  So many things broken and damaged.  But, here we are, mostly unpacked working at building friendships and forming community or becoming part of communities already formed and finding our way in them-- the intricacies of how others parent their children or celebrate or even things that are accepted or taboo to talk about.  We are unpacking our hearts and trying to find where they go- where they best fit in this new home of ours.

In this home that I have claimed as permanent, I see my children who've grown up in a transitory, vagabond, gypsy-like way struggling with being not-temporary- with unpacking fully both physically and mentally.  I look at my older kids and see them standing in a crowded room- even in a group of friends looking lonely and sometimes lost.  I see their eyes, their solitary souls exposed, as they question, "For how long will I know this person?  In the end, will they mean more to me than I ever will to them?"  We've seen it happen-- my children have been hurt by it-- clinging to friendships when they are no longer thought of as deeply as closely- out of sight, out of mind, I guess.  The group keeps going when my kids are no longer there.  Some of my kids bear the wounds more than others.

It is hard for them to realize that they can open up their hurt-in-the-past hearts to new friendships and that this time, the friendships will be solid- built in the foundation of one location, one parish, one homeschool group.   

I find myself constantly reminding the kids, myself too, that "This is where we live.  These are the people you/we will know for a very long time.  You will be invited to their weddings and baby showers and in turn, they will be at your special events too."

"We live here!  Unpack.  Take your coat off, and stay awhile."