Somewhere out there

I used to be able to count my friends.  You know – friends from high school, friends from college, friends from work….

But now, that circle has expanded and I can longer register with ease the people who have an influence on my daily life. With amazing blogs, facebook and twitter wrapping their tentacles tightly around me, I am bound to so many as though I have been doused in maple syrup and grabbed by a toddler.

And by bound, I mean I care.  And by I care, I mean what happens in your life effects me.  I laugh with you, I shake my fist in solidarity, and I cry, I weep with you.

Tonight, I am weeping. Double time.

Just days ago, my sweet friend Arianne lost her baby at 18 weeks. And it quite simply breaks my heart.  I’ve known Ari for less than a year, and yet her presence is profound and peaceful.  You could know her for an hour and find yourself sharing like you have memories dating back to 5th grade.

And then there is the friend I have known for nearly 20 years.  Tonight she emailed to say she had lost her baby at 15 weeks.  As with Ari, my breath caught in my throat and my heart splintered.

Both of these women amaze me with their strength and eloquence despite their pain.

My husband calls me sensitive.  He says it in that half-irritated, half-awed sort of tone that only men can duplicate.  He feels compelled to stay detached but is, at once, touched by the love I have for the friends in my life. Apparently my sensitivity is an asset.

About these friends – both new and old – I am sensitive.  And I will continue to be. Because they have touched my life in some way, I can’t help but share the ups and downs of their days.  It is how I am wired – for better of for worse.

I am in the middle of the country.  These two women I adore are on either coast.  I am here and they are somewhere out there. I can’t knock on their door, sit on their couch and wrap my arms around them, but I can tell them I love them.

And I do.