I Will Be Okay

 We pulled into our driveway after a long weekend away and right then

 I knew.

 There was an instant lump in my throat.  

Sadness welled up in my eyes. Grief welled up in my heart. 

There she was, my neighbor, friend, prayer partner, fellow homeschool mother, front porch companion and lender of all things 'kitchen-y' that I either couldn't find in my own, didn't have in the first place or plain forgot to buy when I went to the store just that morning-even though it was on my list. 
(Please tell me I'm not the only one!)

  When I saw her she was knee deep in mulch sprucing up her landscaping.

 I tried to reason with myself that perhaps with a daughter graduating and an open house fast approaching she was simply tidying up the place. 

But I  knew better. Something was very wrong.

 My neighbor keeps an immaculate home. I mean spotless. Military style perfection

 All. The. Time. 
(No, I am not exaggerating. She flew jets for the Air Force. I kid you not. And no, my house does not look the same. Ever.)

However, landscaping, weed pulling, flower bed fussing... lets just say, not quite her thing. 

There's a little patch of what used to be a beautiful flower bed in between our yards but years ago it was taken over by seedling trees and thick weeds and who knows what else is lurking in there.  It was actually great for us. My son's basketball ended up in that patch so many times but I never had to worry that his ball broke off a much loved and nurtured daisy or flattened a happy, tender hosta plant.  We have a finicky neighbor on the other side, ones enough.
So you'll understand why when I saw her out fussing with her landscape, 
I just knew. 

She was leaving me.

Later that evening a knock on our door confirmed my dreadful suspicions. There we sat on our front porch swing. I sobbed ugly tears-the kind  when your nose pours forth its contents and  you proceed to use your sleeve and don't care one iota.

 That kind. 

We held hands, cried, prayed, blessed, encouraged and reminisced.
She was moving away. 

 I was happy for her. But I was so sad for me. The two emotions sat mixing in my spirit about as well as water and oil. They didn't. 
 I was heartbroken. 

This neighbor was not just the friendly neighbor type who got our mail, fed our dog, took out our garbage  and watched our house when we were gone or  whom I borrowed a cup a sugar from now and then. 

She was so much more.

For starters let me clarify, she was my next door neighbor. You know the difference between a neighbor and next door neighbor don't you?
 Our yards touched. We could look out the window above each of our sinks and see one big backyard. No fence. No boundary. No distinction. The only thing that divided our yards was a crooked mowing line that shifted weekly. 

 Her dogs prefered pooping in our yard anyway. That never bothered us. 

 We shared a backyard but we also shared our lives. We shared our spices, ladders, crock pots, rakes, books, garden produce, jewelry ( I know, how fun is that!)... but also our tears, our hearts, our homes, our porches, our time, our prayers... our very real and vulnerable and authentic selves.  

 She made me meals, I made her dessert. Lets just say we knew what the other wasn't good at. She even cleaned out my fridge and scrubbed my utility sink spotless as a surprise while we were out of town. She stocked my fridge with food on more than one occasion so I didn't have to run to the grocery store upon returning home from vacation. 

(I know! I'm making you jealous about now aren't I?)
 I tried to bless her back but never felt like I could bless her quite like she knew how to bless me.

We felt safe, loved and at home in our neighborhood with each other next door. A sense of belonging and security and safety came with having houses that sat next to each other. 

  I felt good. Really good.

Like little school girls, we promised  we wouldn't move without the other. We'd stick it out together. We'd stay in this community where neither of us had family or roots until it was time for both of our families to move. We hoped that day would never come. But it did and  she broke her promise. 
We both knew one of us would. It was a cute little promise but one
 we couldn't possibly keep. 

So that evening when I saw her in the mulch and she broke the news to me on my front porch, we kept talking late into the evening.  Just her and me giving life advice, speaking words of blessing, saying things we meant to say a dozen times but never had.  Feeling like girls that had just spent a week at camp with our new forever BFF and now the inevitable goodbye was awaiting, she said  four little words to me as we parted, 

"You Will Be Okay." 

I didn't believe her.  But I held tightly to those words as the moving day approached. 

She said I'd be okay. I didn't know how. Life will be so different without her here. I couldn't imagine day to day life in my house without my friend in hers. I didn't want to think about it.
  Two months later she actually did pack up and leave me. 
 Forever.  Our next door neighbor kind of friendship-over.
 Her house is now occupied by someone who doesn't belong there. Strangers moved in. My friend moved out.  Boxes were packed up. A moving company stuffed her life and our friendship into a truck...and  had the audacity to drive away. 
The nerve. 

That was it. She was really gone and so was the something extraordinary we shared. 
But you know what, she was right.

 I am okay. I'm really okay.
It's been over a  month since I said goodbye to my next door neighbor friend. I don't like it. Not one bit. But I'm okay. Sad, but okay. Just this morning as I was making lasagna for company I caught myself heading out my door to her house. The recipe called for garlic salt, I only had garlic powder. I knew she'd have some. Besides, I loved any excuse just to say "Hi friend."
In that moment I forgot she wasn't there. I realized my mistake before my hand reach the door knob. I paused, sighed and courageously went back to my kitchen and proceeded to  put a pinch of powder instead of salt in my lasagna.

You know,  I am reminded these days of Lamentations 3:21-23, 32
Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope. Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail.
 They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 
Though He brings grief, He will show compassion, so great is His unfailing love.   

I thought this goodbye, this loss would consume me. 
But God's love covers me.
I thought I'd wake up the next morning to depression instead I woke up to his compassions and I have every morning since.
He allowed this grief but He also pours forth Hope in equal measure.
It's still hard. It still makes me sad but I am finding his grace to be sufficient for yet one more season, one more change, one more transition, one more heartache in my life... just like all the other ones before.
 We keep breathing because He gives us breath.
We have courage to face the tomorrows we dread because He will never leave us nor forsake us. He is steady, unmoving and faithful.
This I call to mind and therefore I have hope, God loves me, I will not be consumed by this.
 He is compassionate, that will never fail. 
Every morning his faithfulness greets me and his grace covers me.
 His compassions intersect with grief. Every single time.
 I miss my friends presence in my life. I miss being in her space. I miss seeing her come and go.
 I miss just knowing she is there.
 Right. Next. Door.
 But like a lot of things she taught me through the years she was spot on with this one too...
I Really Would Be Okay.

This photo was taken the morning of our last little day together before she moved away.  

Here's what I know. The very things we dread, the unimaginable pains we fear facing....
God's mercies and compassion will meet us right there in that very place.
 Every new morning His love covers our every new heartache.
 Believe it. You will keep breathing. 
Come What May, You Will Be Okay. I promise.
Enjoy this season, enjoy your life, embrace each transition with courage in the One who will  always be there. Don't fear the inevitable. 
 He is your Unfailing Steady in life and 
You are His Beloved.

I regret to report that there are happy, delicate hosta plants where that patch used to be. My son will try to keep his basketball from steamrolling them and I will try to be friendly to the woman who planted them there. Stink it. 
She has no idea whose house she just moved into.  No idea.
But that's okay. She doesn't need to. She just needs to know if she ever needs a pinch of garlic salt I'm right next door.




P.S. Dorothy, I love you. I miss you still. I miss our lunches and our prayers. I miss us. I will forever be grateful that our lives intersected on W 15th St. S  for such a time. My life is richer  because you lived next door. You taught me much and blessed me well. I want to be like you when I grow up...and yes, I still wonder if you really are an angel undercover...oh, and I wore the pearls today. Thanks for sharing your jewelry box with me. Thanks for sharing your life with me...this was just a taste of what's to come in Heaven.  By the way, thought you should know, I made reservations to have a room in 
The Mansion next to yours... can't wait.