Two years ago I had the joy of celebrating a milestone birthday with my High School classmates, and most recently, I reunited with the Peace Corps Volunteers I spent two years with in Tanzania, East Africa. What is it about a shared history, I wondered, that connects us for life, as I walked into the room of Peace Corps Volunteers I hadn't seen in 47 years, but instantly felt close to....
The first thing that came to my mind is that we all had done something profound together, and, at times, something hard where we supported and encouraged each other. We agonized over stuff; laughed deeply together, and "held each other's hand" during tough moments. In many ways, we survived together. Like army buddies, there is a depth of feeling for each other that cannot be penetrated.
Two (although there were many) moments in my shared history come immediately to mind; one, the love and support I received from my High School classmates when a "silly" prank got me into deep water with the good nuns of Notre Dame de Namur. When we all get together, everyone still loves telling this story! We all agonized over my fate together. In Africa, I dodged several serious "bullets" with the help of my Peace Corps buddies and am still here to write about it. Life and death situations shared together certainly connects us! In Colorado during the 80ies, what connected me to my neighborhood girlfriends in Homestead Farm were the joys and traumas of growing up together, trying to become adult-like and becoming parents when all we really wanted to do was party! To this day, I know that those friends helped raise my children and I helped raise theirs.
I have moved away from each of these special groups and as I get older, it becomes harder and harder to have in my life, these kinds of extraordinary, special groups; there just isn't the time to develop the history. For this reason, I will always rejoice when in their company, and be a little sad when they are gone.
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