Never Alone

“Can you even imagine any one of them grown up and married?” I asked my friend Claire, twenty or so years ago. We were sitting at the park across the street from my house that was within yelling distance of hers. And yes, with seven collective children, six boys and a girl, all within seven years of each other, there was plenty of yelling. Not to mention smacking each other with hockey sticks, running away from Noah, and professing their eternal need for snacks. 

“I just want them to be happy,” she answered, in true Claire fashion. “And if they don’t get married, that’s fine, too. It’s not like they’ll ever be alone.”

Right on cue, six of them flew past us, poor Noah pedaling his little legs as fast as he could to keep up. Which, of course, he couldn’t.

“Though, it would be nice if Ian married Victoria or Molly,” Claire added.

Victoria is a blond-haired beauty who is Claire’s other best friend’s daughter and Molly, who I’m not allowed to name in a blog, is a chestnut-haired beauty belonging to me. 

As it turned out, Ian didn’t marry Victoria or Molly, but they were both at his wedding two weeks ago. 

For at least a dozen years, I spent more time with my friend Claire than I did with my own spouse. When my first-born was in second grade, the creative services department at CNBC moved to California, and I was out of work. Rather than looking for another real job, which was the biggest financial mistake of our lives, and perhaps the biggest parenting mistake, depending on which child, under which circumstances you were to ask, I began part-time freelancing, part-time mothering, and full-time volunteering. 

I didn’t know how to volunteer, but my friend Claire taught me. 

We started our day after the last kid got on the bus, was delivered to pre-school, or was extricated from our pant legs. Together, we served as PTA presidents, orchestrating picture days, book fairs, and field days. We ran the town Little League, coordinating opening day events, managing the concession stand, scrounging for sponsors and designing, ordering, and distributing uniforms. We fed the high school football team before games, we organized awards dinners at the end of the season, and together we cheered from the bleachers at every single game of every single sport at which any one of our shared seven children chose to participate.

And while we were watching our children grow, we spent countless hours talking about the what ifs, and the who knows, and the do ya thinks, wondering about what they’d do, who they’d become, and how they’d get there. 

We worried about who they were or were not dating, how they were getting to the prom and with whom. We worried about the new friends they were bringing around and worried about the old ones they'd discharged along the way. We worried about whether they’d hit a home run, throw a touchdown pass, pin their opponent, medal in the pool, score a goal, or land their back handspring. We worried that they wouldn't pass their drivers' test, and then worried when they did. We worried they wouldn't get into their first-choice college, and then when they did, worried if it was indeed the right choice after all.

And, despite all that worrying, wouldn’t you know it? They all grew up. All seven went to college, with the last one right on track to finish in May. After they graduated, they went south, they went west, they went across the state.

Ian, Claire’s oldest, went farther than all the others put together. Like around the world far. Like to Japan-to-teach-English-for-a-year far.

But, the others, they came home, they left home, and they came back again. So, while Claire and I have both had week-long, sometimes month-long stretches of being Empty Nesters, we’ve come close, but our kids have never completely left us alone. 

And then, a mother’s fourth (fill in your own blanks for numbers one through three) worst nightmare came true. Ian announced he was not coming home. He loved the culture. He loved the country. And, by the way, he met someone. 

Claire half-joked that she’d never see her eldest son again. That he’d get married and have grandbabies that she’d never know. But, she always amended those thoughts with, “As long as he’s happy.” 

Sure enough, one day Claire forwarded me the link to an adorably touching video that Ian had created, featuring Kaori, the love of his life. He put together clips of her doing all kinds of things showing the many facets of who she is: smart, funny, adventurous, silly, beautiful. The video ended with Ian asking her to marry him. 

A sweeter proposal I’d never seen. 

The summer before last, Ian and Kaori got married in a traditional Japanese ceremony in Japan. And two weeks ago, they got married in a traditional American ceremony in America. 

It was a perfect wedding. Kao wore a beautiful white wedding gown and Ian wore a smile as wide as Japan is long. 

The bride and her father danced to The Monkees’ Daydream Believer, a happy, boppy, tune from the good old days. The bride and groom danced to Can You Feel the Love Tonight, a tribute to Kao’s love of all things Disney and presumably of all things Ian. And the groom and his mother danced to Lady Antebellum’s Never Alone.

May your tears come from laughing

You find friends worth having

As every year passes

They mean more than gold

May you win and stay humble

Smile more than grumble

And know when you stumble

You're never alone

Never alone

Never alone

I'll be in every beat of your heart

When you face the unknown

Wherever you fly

This isn't goodbye

My love will follow you, stay with you

Baby, you're never alone

Ian and Kao don’t know where their forever home will be. He says he wants to live in Japan. She wants to live here. For now, they’re in San Diego where Kao is finishing up graduate work in psychology.

But, whatever they do, wherever they live, be it 3000 miles, an ocean, or just a zip code away, may they forever and always feel the love, be daydream believers and know, as sure as the ground they stand on, that they are never alone. 

No Friendship is an Accident

Life is all about stumbling into random situations with random people, some of whom we never see again and others who become our new BFFs.  

Five random 18 year-old girls from different parts of the country converged in Chapel Hill at the University of North Carolina nine years ago. On the bus ride back from their sorority initiation, Molly asked Julianne if she wanted to be her friend. In true Julianne fashion, she shrugged her shoulders and just said, “Sure.” 

So, while the initial meeting may be serendipitous, friendship is intentional. There’s always that moment of choice, that one decision that cements your fate in another person’s soul.

The two of them shared a room in the Phi Phi house the next year; Jenny and Lauren were right down the hall, and Julie, who had been their suite mate, lived in a dorm a stone’s throw away. The following year, the five of them rented a somewhat dilapidated house where they lived together until they graduated. 

What makes this friendship so unique is that the parents muscled their way into the mix, vowing to visit their daughters on the same weekend every year so they could all be together. 

What makes this doubly unique is that even after graduation, the parents and girls come from Chicago, Denver, Brooklyn, Asheville, Cleveland, New Jersey, or anywhere else they may be living, for a yearly reunion in Chapel Hill. 

What makes this triply unique is that it all began with a random meeting 35,000 feet in the air. Lauren and her parents were flying to North Carolina back in 2010 for freshman move-in day. They got to talking with a couple named Stephen and Sandra, who were on their way home to Chapel Hill after visiting their son who lives in Denver. 

“Call us!” Sandra said, handing them a business card at the end of the flight.

They didn’t call. Not that trip, anyway. But, when Lauren’s parents came back out for Parent’s Weekend six weeks later, they decided (there’s that word again) they had nothing to lose and they made the call. 

And now, nine years later, we still gather at Sandra and Stephen’s once a year and marvel at how lucky we are. 

Last weekend was the annual reunion and all but Jenny and her parents came. Jenny was busy birthing babies and her parents, well they were reunioning at Ohio State. But, Jenny Facetimed in for the scavenger hunt. 

The scavenger hunt that was secretly orchestrated by Lauren.

The scavenger hunt that took us all from the sorority house to Sutton’s, the iconic drug store/eatery that boasts dozens of UNC basketball jerseys, hundreds of photos of the famous and infamous, not to mention a plaque dedicated to our daughters over the booth at which Hollie, our favorite waitress, was gifted a Duke game ticket in exchange for the girls’ picture on the wall. 

Clues took us from Sutton’s to their old home on Carr Street. The house that they fondly named Bar Carr; where they celebrated 21^stbirthdays, battled cockroaches, and tearfully sighed that while they were eager to move upward and onward, they knew it was the last time they’d ever live together as best friends. 

To lighten things up, we headed over to Franklin Street, to Top of the Hill, a bar/restaurant staple and a parental favorite. We were charged with chugging Kansas City Ice Waters, a multi-liquor concoction before moving on to the UNC landmark with a tradition that claims a drink from the Old Well brings good luck.  

And finally, our last destination led us to Sandra and Stephen’s house where Lauren greeted us on one knee holding a huge poster board that read: 

I’m so excited to marry Rob and be the bride.

But I can’t say “I do” without you all by my side.

UNC made us best friends and I wouldn’t have it any other way,

Jenny, Julianne, Julie and Molly –

Will you be bridesmaids on my big day?

Obviously, there was not a dry eye in the house. 

Later that night, as always happens after a drink or five, someone, usually Dan or Tom, throws out a thought-provoking question. This year’s was: What was the best decision you ever made?

The answers were somewhat universal in, duh, deciding to go to UNC, though adopting Bowie the Bow-Wow was in there as well. The married folk, at least those with spouses present, solemnly swore that was their best decision of all. Lauren, who we fully expected to say, “Deciding to marry Rob,” gave us a more realistic version of that truth. Which was her conscious decision to open her heart and let love in. 

Again, not a dry eye. 

And me, well, sitting at a table like that, spouse safely at home hunting down news stories, what else could I say? The best decision I ever made was saying, “Oh, OK. I’ll go out for dinner with all your roommates’ parents even though I have zero interest in forging friendships that won’t last past graduation.” 

Next year, as we mark ten years of this magical multi-generational friendship, we’ll be having our reunion in Denver, in dual-celebration of Lauren and Rob's wedding. 

All because of a few good decisions we made along the way.