Happily Ever After: The Life-Changing Power of a Grateful Heart (17 page)

Unless you’re really lucky, your extended family is scattered across the country, or even the globe. The beauty of the twenty-first century, though, is that technology is ready and waiting for you to use it to your advantage to reach out and connect with someone. A call via Skype or Facetime or even the old-fashioned telephone doesn’t really compare to a kiss or a hug, but it’s better than nothing, and letting them know how much you care can put smiles on the faces of those you love.

To develop a family full of members with a strong sense of intergenerational self, sit down without distraction and talk. It’s as simple as that and can happen whenever and wherever focused attention is possible. Maybe it’s during mealtime or snack time, while at celebrations or on vacations. Regardless of the where, make time for the what. You’ll not only be spending quality time making memories, but you’ll be setting the stage for a strong family unit that communicates effectively and lives happily.

Thank You for Being a Friend

True friendship multiplies the good in life and divides its evils. Strive to have friends, for life without friends is like life on a desert island . . . to find one real friend in a lifetime is good fortune; to keep him is a blessing.

—B
ALTASAR
G
RACIAN

CHAPTER SIX

I
GREW UP IN SUBURBAN
C
HESTERFIELD,
M
ISSOURI, WHERE
my mom, my dad, our black Lab, Abbey, and I lived a relatively happy life—that is, until my parents sat me down one surprising evening when I was in fifth grade and asked if I knew what “divorce” meant. Of course I had heard of it, but even after witnessing them argue for years, I never thought I would experience this devastating family upheaval firsthand. All these years later, I understand that they made the best decision for themselves and for our family, and our lives are better for it. I will admit, though, that when their marriage officially ended, I was incredibly sad.

As a little girl, it was one of the hardest things I had to deal with, both emotionally and logistically. After a judge weighed in, I was required to pack a bag every other weekend and travel thirty minutes to my dad’s house. That half hour felt like forever to me. As a mother who wants nothing more than to spend time with her kids, I understand why it was important for me to go, but back then it was the last thing I wanted to spend my Saturdays and Sundays doing. Instead of seeing those weekends as an opportunity to bond with my dad—whom I would now be ecstatic to see more often—I was solely focused on the fact that I was missing out on time with my friends. Big slumber
party? I would miss it. Lounging by my BFF’s pool? Nope. Sunday at the movies? With my dad, maybe, but not with the girls, who I knew were clustered together over a barrel of popcorn, laughing their heads off and creating memories that I wouldn’t be a part of. Since I was an only child, my friends were the sisters I didn’t have (at least until later in life when I was blessed with both a stepsister and a half sister). And especially for a teenager, nothing quite compares to time with your friends. So even though I’ve always loved my dad, those weekends just about broke my heart.

When I think back on my childhood, those feelings of closeness, of belonging, of a connection with friends spring to mind. I remember the afternoons we spent giggling at the mall. Late-night phone calls sobbing about the boys who had broken our hearts. Lunchtime in the cafeteria at school, laughing about everything and absolutely nothing. I’ve always had such a deep appreciation for my friends, and that will never change. I love Ryan, my children, and my entire extended family, but my friends give me something my family can’t. They are my trusted therapists, pick-me-ups, and sounding boards who have usually been able to empathize with my struggles and successes best because most of them are at the same point in life that I am. They keep me company on the phone when my house is empty, share wise counsel about birthday-party and outfit planning, offer to pick up the kids from school if I have the flu, and remind me of what really matters when life hits a rough patch.

If you’re anything like me, you strive to be nurturing, considerate, and loyal, but sometimes it’s easy to take friends for granted. Take, for example, this story of Michelle (or, as I call her, Miss), my best friend from graduate school. She had just given
birth to her first-
and
secondborn—twin baby girls named Carolina and Daniella. Born prematurely at twenty-seven weeks and at a little over a pound each, they were fighting for their lives in the neonatal intensive care unit of Joe DiMaggio Children’s Hospital. Her friends and family offered immeasurable support during that extremely difficult time, but what struck her the most was the thoughtfulness and unconditional devotion of three women: Beth, Penny, and Elizabeth.

Miss had been friendly with these women through her job as a physical therapist in the rehabilitation department at Memorial Regional, the sister hospital to Joe DiMaggio Children’s, prior to her admission on the labor and delivery floor there. However, their interactions had always been limited to the workplace.

Until now.

These three were the first visitors Michelle had in the recovery room after her traumatic C-section, and they stuck around for every step of her family’s two-and-a-half-month journey, always stopping by to check on them before, during, and after breaks on their shifts on the rehab floor. They offered listening ears as well as comforting shoulders to cry on when Miss needed them most. On one noteworthy occasion, Elizabeth showed up at the hospital at 1:00 a.m. after one of Michelle’s baby girls had undergone an especially difficult surgery. Michelle had called to vent and Elizabeth came to sit and just be her friend. She didn’t have to say anything. Just showing up and being emotionally present was enough.

Throughout the experience, Michelle thanked her lucky stars that those ladies stepped up when it really counted. I counted mine too. Living more than 2,000 miles away, I flew in to be by Miss’s side for what seemed like a blip of a
visit, but at least when I left I knew she was in capable, caring hands, and my guilt dissipated (slightly).

The four women no longer work together, but Michelle has remained friends with them all. She knows that Elizabeth, Penny, and Beth all would drop everything again to be there for her, come what may, as she would be for each of them. She learned that even though she expected her family and closest friends to show their unadulterated support, she should never overlook those in her life with whom she may not have a long history, but who nonetheless want to be a dedicated part of her life. Taking her friends for granted isn’t an option. It shouldn’t be for any of us either.

M
AKE
N
EW
F
RIENDS BUT
K
EEP THE
O
LD

Francesco Guicciardini, an Italian historian, said, “Since there is nothing so well worth having as friends, never lose a chance to make them.” It is a lesson even my young son, Max, could take to heart.

Max has always been sweetly shy, even when he was a baby. He lights up around his buddies and people he has a history with, but in new situations with unfamiliar faces, he has a difficult time sticking his neck out. June 18, 2012, was one of those days.

We had enrolled four-year-old Max in a weeklong sports camp called “Mini Hawks,” which they do in our area every summer. On opening day, we dropped him off for what we thought we would be three hours of fun-filled playtime. He would learn about basketball, baseball, and soccer, happily put more miles on his size-ten sneakers, and maybe even make some friends. That’s what we hoped, at least.

From the time I picked him up at the end of the day, and throughout the evening, I noticed that he was “off.” I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I suspected that he was either exhausted from running around all day, starting to come down with a nasty bug, or something was making him sad.

At bedtime, Ryan and I said goodnight to Blakesley first, and then it was Max’s turn to be tucked in. After he crawled under his covers, I said, “As your mommy, I will always be here to listen. Can you tell me why you are sad?”

He looked at me with his big, beautiful hazel eyes and quietly said, “No one would play with me today.”

My. Heart. Broke.

For a parent, hearing that your child is hurting is one of the most emotionally painful experiences you can experience. I felt my heart tearing into pieces for him. He hadn’t been bullied or beaten or physically hurt, but of all the experiences he’d had in his four years of life, this one made him feel miserable. Normally partnered up with his lively little sister or his best friend, Knox, whom he met when he was five days old in the neonatal intensive care unit, he had never felt the crushing sensation of feeling alone on a field full of his peers.

I immediately went into glass-half-full mode and suggested that maybe since Knox hadn’t signed up for the camp, Max could try to make a special new friend the next day. Maybe even one he could introduce Knox to and they could all play together.

His face lit up as he said, “Yeah!”

I explained that I knew it was hard for him to talk to boys and girls he didn’t know, but if he tried, he might meet someone he could have a super-fun day with. Besides, his daddy and I were partially to blame because we had arrived a few
minutes late that morning, and the campers had already gone through the round of introductions.

Determined to make tomorrow a better day, Max went to sleep that night with a smile on his face and hope in his heart for a new friend. I could only pray that it would come to fruition.

Driving to Donovan Park to pick him up after camp the next day, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I searched the basketball court where they had the kids line up to wait for their parents to take them home and spotted Max—laughing. An instantaneous smile shot across my face.

When the counselors called Max’s name, he grabbed the backpack filled with extra clothes that was nearly half his size and came running toward Blakesley and me.

“Mommy, I made a new friend!”