For the
past five years until nine months ago, when my beautiful neighbors moved four
hours away, this is what happened.
Every day
on my way to my day job, I would walk past my neighbors’ house while the two children
and one or both of their parents were having breakfast in their dining room. I’m
not sure how it started, but it became a game: I would do something silly
outside their window, like throw snow or my hat up in the air, dance, do
whatever crossed my mind to make them laugh and smile and give me a little joy
to start my day. Then, when I came home, I would see them, and knowing that
life is short, I would not hesitate to play with them if it were summer time or
give them a hug or chase them (kids love to be chased) or play tag or play games
that Kai, the five-year-old, usually made up.
I have
felt so grateful that their parents could share them and not be afraid that
they could love another adult, one not related by blood. I think this culture
has a lot to learn about dealing with insecurities and not feeling threatened
or jealous in all of our loves and friendships.
Have I
told you I don’t do anything typical? I don’t think of family, parenting,
children or any way of my being in a typical way. Since the parents were so
loving and open to me and not threatened that their children loved me, I took
the time to be there and help if they asked. Even if they did not ask, if I saw
the children in the backyard on the weekend, I would run over there and let the
parents do something else while I played with them.
I love
both of the children very much, and Ruby June, who is two and a half, and I
have a very special connection. I swear I was waiting for her before she was
born. I tell people that I think she and I knew each other in a past life. She
would say “my Susan,” and I would reassure her that I will always be hers. Right
before they moved, she would want me to do everything—change her diaper (if she
had one on) or give her a bath at bedtime. She asked one Saturday to come to my
house and eat lunch and take a nap. The mother told me no one could get Ruby to
nap so easily—not Grandma, Dad or her. Ruby and I would go to the nearby park
and take our time coming home, talking about all we were seeing as we walked
home (or I carried her and whatever she chose to bring with us to the park).
I used to
joke that I wanted to marry the family—the entire family—and I don’t mean that
in any sexual way. Have I told you I don’t do anything in a typical way? I do
it in the way that feels best and most authentic to me. Loving those children
and that family feels really right to me.
There was
a time in my life I thought I was not capable of love and that I would only
feel hate. So it is actually very beautiful that I will love and risk losing
and do it again and again in each moment. I would never undo or change what I
had with those little ones.
I joked
with one person at my day job (when she was having a hard day) that maybe if
she played Ring Around the Rosy every day the way I did, she would have a
better time at work.
I miss
the daily presence of those two children very much.
Copyright 2013 by Susan Miranda. All rights reserved. No part of this writing may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder. For reprint permission, email miranda_susan@yahoo.com.
