Homesick

Last night I took a few minutes to play around on Facebook while I watched TV with my mom. I came across some pictures posted by one of my friends back in New York and started showing them with Mom. Pictures of a going-away party for a young couple from the Chinese branch in Brooklyn. I showed them to Mom, telling her who was who, matching the children to their parents, telling her a little bit about them.

Mom has always been good at making me second-guess my decisions, or even my ability to make decisions. I really don't think she realizes this is what she's doing when she says "I know you miss your friends. Are you sure you don't regret coming home from New York?" In fact, she says it a lot, because she forgets that she just asked me a little while ago. So I get a lot of opportunities to assure her, and myself, that I'm happy with my decision, that I'm right where I want to be.

But of course I miss my friends! I regularly spent time with people from every corner of the world, and I will always cherish those friendships and the memories we made together.

I always wondered if I could learn a little Chinese (Mandarin or Cantonese - I knew speakers of both) to better communicate with the members of the Chinese Branch of my church in Brooklyn. I wanted to do it to show them how much I respect them for having the courage to come halfway around the world and carve out a life for their families while not speaking a word of English. But I never made the time to take a class. Still, I always looked forward to my visits to that Chinese Branch, where someone would always translate for me. Such delightful people, so kind to me and so eager to help me or teach me. It was one of these Chinese sisters who gave me an entire day of her time when I was packing up to move. She sorted the contents of my food storage pantry into 14 big boxes. I silently thank her every time I see those boxes.

I miss my beautiful Spanish-speaking friends, like Jose, who always smiles. He says that Spanish is the language of Heaven, we will all speak it one day. Consuelo, his wife, is the proudest, most devoted mother ever, and the finest friend.

I miss the delightful Caribbean people in Midwood, and their Relief Society president, Alice. She and her husband Frank live the Gospel like no one else I have ever known. I loved visiting that congregation because the women in Relief Society sang with such gusto, drowning me out entirely. That didn't happen in any other congregation in Brooklyn.

I miss my delightful Filipino family - for friends ARE family among Filipinos. Everyone seems to get a nickname. Mine is Momsy. Holidays won't be the same without karioke at the Soletas!

And of course in my own ward I had every nationality mixed together in one place. In my 14 years there I came to know people from Russia, Mongolia, Haiti, Hong Kong, Italy, Australia, Sierra Leone, Kenya, Puerto Rico and many other Caribbean islands, Belize, Peru, Ecuador, Argentina, El Salvador, and the equally foreign-to-me lands of California, Utah, Canada.

But that's not all. I worked each day with Jewish people from all over. More than a few had family members who were Holocaust survivors. Some were very secular, others very devout. Many had spent a year or more in Israel, spoke Hebrew and Yiddish, and happily educated me about the meaning and history of the Jewish holidays. I worked with Muslims and Buddhists, Catholics and Coptics, Greek and Russian Orthodox, and people who didn't feel the need of any higher power.

People think that New Yorkers are cold, unfriendly, distant, but I quickly learned that they are devoted friends, fiercely loyal, generous to a fault. A New York friend is a friend for life.

So yes, Mom, I do miss my friends and my adopted hometown. I'm doing my best to make my home in Arkansas, and I'm grateful for every day that I'm here with you. But I'm homesick. I find myself tearing up unexpectedly and more often than I'd like. I'm having trouble settling into my new church and job where almost everyone looks the same and sounds the same. I'm not as brave as my immigrant friends in New York who just dive in and make their way.

The lyrics to a hymn recently pulled me up short. Grief. "Jesus can heal my grief." That's what wrong with me, I am grieving! I couldn't sing anymore that morning. I stopped in mid-phrase so I wouldn't embarrass myself crying out loud. At least now I have a word for what I'm feeling. Why didn't I see it sooner? Grief has steps and phases. There's a process for moving through it and coming out better on the other side of it. I need to work on that and keep moving forward.

After all, I haven't lost my New York friends. I have Facebook and email and the phone, should I have a moment to make a call. So to all of you who read this - I love you, I miss you, but I'm okay and I'm where I need to be. I'm happy in the knowledge that you will go on being true New Yorkers, accepting and welcoming other people like me and becoming THEIR new friends for life. Thank you for enriching my life and teaching me so much about unconditional love and acceptance and what friendship is all about.