There’s always room for new friends

In the seven short months I’ve lived in Blacksburg, Virginia, I’ve made a few friends. Katherine is one of the best.

Katherine lives in an apartment behind mine, literally a 30-second walk away. I have two toddlers, she has two toddlers. My husband is in a PhD program, hers is in medical school. We go to the same church, and we’re both stay-at-home moms. Every few days we go on a walk to one of the parks nearby and chat about life while our kids play. She’s a fantastic listener and understands the unique challenges that come along with raising a family while going through graduate school.

It’s perfect, except for one thing: Katherine is moving to Ohio.

When I heard the news, I was heartbroken. It is with great sadness that I will add her name to my “to call” list.

I get out my “to call” list at least once a week, usually around 4 p.m. when my toddlers have me at my wits’ end, and my husband doesn’t get home for another hour, and I need adult conversation immediately. On the list is everyone I consider a good friend who doesn’t live in Blacksburg.

Because of differing time zones and schedules — not to mention the sheer length of the list — I only talk to each person once every few months. Thankfully, social media keeps me connected, so I can jump right in with “Your new baby is so adorable!” or “Tell me all about your new job!”

These people are still my friends — but I miss seeing them. They aren’t “come over to Easter dinner with my family,” “I need to get out of the house, let’s take the kids to the library together,” or “I need to take my son to instant care NOW can you please watch my daughter?” friends. They’re just “to call” friends. I shared my time with them, I shared my life with them, but I don’t get to do that anymore, not in the same way.

The sad truth is that some of these friends are getting called less and less. Someday they’ll be distant memories, people I send Christmas cards to but never talk with anymore. My parents have quite a few “Christmas card” friends. I remember piling their pictures on the counter each December and wondering “Who are these people?” — never understanding they were friends my parents had gone to school with, raised children alongside, and supported during trials. If I had been more observant I would have noticed that my mom stopped everything to read the cards with a faraway look in her eyes — but these old friends of hers weren’t a part of my life, so I considered them unimportant.

Someday many of my “to call” friends will be “Christmas card” friends (or will they be called “Facebook friends?”) that my children will neither know nor care about. They’ll be my best friends of a bygone era, and I’ll walk to the park with new friends.

But no matter whether we stay in touch or ever see each other again, my friends were a part of my life, and they were important, and they changed me. Each one has taught me a valuable lesson.

I’ll never forget my dear friend Katrina, who came when I was on bed rest and brought me lunch, cleaned my house, and made me dinner. What an example of service she was to me.

I’ll never forget my colleagues from my first real job at the Herald Journal newspaper in Logan, Utah. Being a reporter was often stressful, but my friends there made work fun and kept me from becoming cynical. After I had my first baby, they not only tolerated her frequent office visits, but fought over who got to hold her next. They loved me like family when my family was far away, and I want to love people like that.

Every time I say “yes” to my kids, I think of the lessons I learned from my friends in my college improvisational comedy troupe.

Anytime I have to gear myself up to do a hard or unpleasant job, I always think of Laura Whitmore. In high school she was my constant motivation to swim faster or practice my trombone more, although I never caught up with her, because she’s the hardest worker I’ve ever met.

I often wonder to myself how I can ever repay Amanda for babysitting my 17-month-old overnight while I had my second baby. And every time I see “Winnie the Pooh,” I think of Alex and Sam, who introduced him to my daughter.

Unfortunately, this cycle of loving and losing friends is far from over for me. I live in a college town — all my friends will be leaving me eventually, until I leave whoever is left when my husband finishes school.

It is tempting to close myself off from the pain of meeting new people and sharing key moments in my life with them, since I know I cannot keep them close to me forever. Sometimes I feel that I leave a little piece of my heart with each friend I’ve loved, so that I’ll never have it whole again.

But I’ve learned this about the heart: it never diminishes in size, it only grows. I have room in my heart for all different kinds of friends, whether they are far away or right in my backyard.

Rachel Kenley Fry was born and raised in Palmer and graduated from Utah State University in 2012 with degrees in journalism and agricultural communication. Her previous work for the Frontiersman includes two years as a “Student Views” columnist and contributions for a “What to Eat” column while she was an intern with the Alaska Division of Agriculture. She currently lives in Virginia with her husband and two children.