A package in the mail

Braeden and I stopped to get the mail on the way home from school.  (He was wearing his baby blue suit.  That has nothing to do with the story, but I feel like it should be noted.)

There was a package.  It was from Janet.  This was on the side:

Sweet Inge!  Never grow up!  I insist.  (Because that works so well with my children.)

Inside was filled with all sorts of goodness.  There were pictures of these darling girls:

It is legal to be THAT cute?

There was fancy mustard Janet proclaimed life changing and she wanted us to try it too.  There was blood orange syrup for Italian sodas.  There was a book Freja had borrowed from Emma and there were clothes for Mark, some favorite shirts of Leif's he has outgrown.  They made Braeden sigh with happiness at the sight of them.  Every one of my kids held the clothes close their faces and inhaled.  "They smell like the Jorgensens' house," they said happily.

This is what made me cry:

A framed photo of Team Rocket.  I miss those boys and I loved having a pile of their shoes at my front door.   I loved to hear the undulating cadence of Braeden and Jadon arguing about politics or anything else under the sun.  I loved hearing all of them laugh.  A lot.

By the time I had finished reading Janet's note she had included, it was full out ugly crying.  "Come here," Braeden said, holding out his arms and pulling me to him.

"I miss my old life sometimes," I said into his chest.

"I know," he said soothingly, patting my back. "It's OK."

And it is OK.  Because Janet is in the world.  I miss my old life sometimes but my friends are still in my life, the one right here and now.

Their physical proximity has changed but they're right here, in my heart.