Who was your first friend?

A real friend, the one you could say anything to, laugh with, be yourself. Inseparable and unconditional. It is often said that if you can count the amount of real friends on one hand at the end of your life, you are blessed.

My first friend in the world was Eli Blackwell. Our parents were friends. And they picked fruit together. Now that I am sitting down to write about this time, I wonder where that fruit was picked. California, Oregon, Washington or Montana. Maybe all of the above. I remember running in the grass. Playing under trees. Filling plastic baggies with grass that grew under those trees. 

The last time I saw Eli, we were fourteen and sixteen. My mom and I stopped at his parents house in Hood River on our way back from California. An overnight drive between northeastern Oregon and northern California. Mom wanted to bring me to Mexico. My dad said he would consent if he saw me in person first. That was a long and tiring drive in a borrowed white car under sheets of pouring rain.

In this day and age, it seems unlikely to lose track of someone. With social media and the internet. And yet, for almost thirty years, I didn't see or hear about Eli. I looked online. Through phone books. Maybe I crossed over his name through the years and didn't see him. 

Earlier this year, mom found him on facebook. Heart be still. My first friend. Real friend, the one I  could say anything to, laugh with, be myself. Inseparable and unconditional. 

At Tao of Tea in Portland, Eli asked about a statue. A picture I posted. The statue is in my yard in Baja. It was once in his yard in Takilma, Oregon. I remember seeing it there as a child. I have a picture somehwere of Chata, a marble sphynx statue my dad made, in that yard surrounded by greenery. Later, she lived in northern California on a corner coffee table in the living room. After my father dissapeared, my mom brought her home to Mexico. Little by little, I have brought her closer to places I enjoy outside. Knowing now that Eli played with his trucks around her and remembers how she feels, this statue is all the more special. Makes me want to bring her closer to the house.

Life is full of rewards. Reconnecting with my first real friend is a deeply rewarding gift. I cherished our childhood memories all my life. Wondered where he was. How he was. If he was alive. Wondered how or why I couldn't find him. And if I ever would. It was a question mark. Similar to the one I carry around my dad's whereabouts. But different. Because now I have one answer. And another person in this world who knew me as a child, who witnessed my existence and because of that witnessing and remembering, I am positive that that time in my own life did happen. 

As the only child of an only child and a person who moved through different towns, states, across the border, lived with different family members and different families, it has bewildered me to notice that the only person I still know who knew me as a child is my mother. My childhood ties were untied in a way that made me long for connection to that innocent time in life. 

Reflecting and wondering why almost thirty years for such a heartful reward that upon returning home and sharing with my family, I broke down and cried from the top of my head to the tip of of my toes, all that comes to me now: Timing is everything. I look at where I am in my personal life, professional life, middle age and a time between growing up and deciding that maybe growing up is overrated.

My life is dedicated to healing. And still, I use this word sparingly. Words, although beautiful and meaningful can be overused. Overuse leads to dilution. Loss of  rich and powerful meaning. With this in mind and heart, I realize how deeply healing this reconnection is for me on every level...heart, body, mind and soul...my existence, that time in my life, my childhood was witnessed and remembered by my first real friend. A person I witnessed and remembered. The memories I cherished were cherished as well. Sharing makes experience larger than life. 

As we integrate the parts of our life, experience, our being and continuously claim them as part of our entire existence, we feel whole. Healing leads to wholeness. We are always as whole as we can be at each phase in our lives. No more and no less. Always whole. Just different versions of whole.

Laughing with the first real friend I had in this lifetime. A real friend, one I can say anything to, laugh with, be myself. Still feeling inseparable and unconditional.  Sharing the details of our current lives. What we've done and where we've been. Who we share our lives with now. Sharing meaningful memories. Depth of experiences that are empathized. On both sides of the table. Confirmation. I was remembered in a way that I remembered another. That feeling fills me to the brim. My heart is full.

There is more. Do you want to know the best part? After all these years, Eli is a person I want to know now. Be friends with now. He is kind, intelligent, artistic, soulful, thoughtful, funny, interesting and easy to be around. He is a person my kids and husband would appreciate and enjoy knowing too. After so many years, you never know if the relatability will still be there. The easy, back and forth across the table. Comfort with the spaces in between. The intention to maintain a connection forged at the beginning of both our lives. Continue to share the details, the wherabouts, ins and outs of grown up or not so grown up living. Above all, the laughter and joy in friendship shared across miles, years and life unfolding.