Girlfriends
Miss 10 is struggling with being uprooted. I tell her I am so sorry to take her away from her friends. I try to acknowledge her grief; to make space for her feelings when she lashes out at me.
I get it. I, too, am devastated to leave my friends. I say, “We will make new friends—but they won’t replace the old.” My girlfriends in San Diego are the best I’ve ever had.
The ones who send you late-night texts and Instagram clips.
Who share mom advice in your book club.
Who show you that Marco Polo is a really great way to keep in touch.
Who charge into the ocean for a Midsummer’s Dream, and laugh when you call it a Solar Plunge, because the “Polar Plunge” on New Year’s Day never happened for one reason or another.
Who threw you a beautiful baby shower that people still talk about, seven years later.
Who is your gym buddy.
Who show you that you can be vegan and a foodie.
Who fly in from Oregon to help you declutter.
Who send you voice messages with the difference between Mexican Spanish and Spanish Spanish (castellano).
Who say a prayer for you and tell you they’re proud of you.
Who sneak you into a hotel and enjoy a poolside margarita.
Who throw you a spectacular Spanish-themed going-away dinner party.
Who host your eldest for endless sleepovers and take her out for sushi.
Who tease you for being clueless about pop culture.
Who show up to help you clean the walls and pack up your life.
Who is your twin mom bestie.
Who open their home to neighbours who arrive as strangers and leave as friends.
Who cry and promise to visit.
That’s not including the others in your community. The preschool teachers who guided your kiddos when they were babies; the others who taught your kids to read and count and, later, learn French. The writing community who you met with twice a month and makes you wonder if rejoining the group is possible with a 9-hour time difference. The friendly face of the childless widow in the local grocery store who, despite her ongoing losses, drew Mickey Mouse for the kids on every receipt. The woman who recently transitioned and who gladly takes your shoes. The women who are mamas to kids the same age as your youngest. The bilingual babysitter who the kids constantly talk about. The elderly neighbours who you’d wave to and drop off a meal for, even though you weren’t friends per se.
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We opted to move closer to family, but still an hour’s drive away. In Málaga, it is more Spanish than where they live, which is more international. I wanted to discover my own corner of Spain. I’ve heard it’s harder to break into Spanish circles, but we’ll see. Maybe I’ll befriend a Spanish or French mama. Maybe it will be an American or a Brit. Or maybe someone from elsewhere. I miss my friends, just as Miss 10 misses hers. I have to keep showing her it’s okay to feel sad while being hopeful about who will come into our lives next.
