Until next time, Indy :: One mom's farewell to Indianapolis

I’m eating a TV dinner. Most likely it’s Salisbury steak. I’m sitting on green shag carpet that scratches my bare legs. I lean back against a couch that is exactly what you would picture existing in a room alongside green shag carpet, a vaguely floral pattern with an abundance of brown and mustard. Night Rider is blaring on the television, and I am pretending to follow the storyline but secretly I’m just in it for the talking car. I wait all year to spend these long, carefree summer nights with my grandparents. This is why I am leaving Indiana.

I am going back home.

Home hasn’t been my home in a very long time, but I am going so that my three children can have those same nights.

But knowing why you are going doesn’t make it any easier to leave. And for the last eleven years, I have become increasingly adept at making a “home” and creating “family” wherever I go. For seven years I created a life in Tampa, Florida. I met and married my husband, and we brought our first child, our daughter, into the world. We made friends who joined us in these milestones, and then we decided to move to the Midwest. The decision was difficult, but we knew it was the right move for our small family. I remember driving up I-65 and wondering, “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

Now four years have passed, and we are about to make the same journey, in reverse. Four years have felt like both an eternity and the blink of an eye. Four years have seen the growth of our family by two sweet and rowdy little boys. Four years have seen surgeries, new careers, heartache, hardship, but oh so much joy. If you told me four years ago that Indianapolis would feel like home, I am not sure I would have believed you.

Is there anything more descriptive of the human condition than our ability to hold two conflicting emotions simultaneously in our hearts? Fear and excitement. Anticipation and dread. Sadness and happiness. We are going home, but we are leaving home as well, and on the eve of our departure I find myself reflecting, even wallowing in the nostalgia and sentimentality of it all.

Four years ago we drove the farthest north I had ever lived to a place where I knew not a soul.

With a child in tow and one on the way, I was without a career, without friends and family nearby, and without a clue of how my life would unfold before me. Life has a funny way of just trucking right along whether you have figured things out or not, and that’s just what it did. Summer gave way to Fall, and I was smitten with the crisp air and the magic of a Midwestern fall. The first snow fell when I was so pregnant I had a hard time making it outside to see, but I silently watched and admired the winter wonderland that annoyed native Hoosiers but just mesmerized me. I gave birth to my son on Christmas morning and brought him home on a frigid day. I spent much of that winter fighting back the tide of postpartum depression and longing for my old home, my old friends, and my old life. But as the snow slowly started to melt, and the tree buds struggled to break out of their casings, my real life in Indiana also emerged.

My daughter, now almost six years old, was just shy of two when we moved to Indianapolis. She doesn’t remember a life before here. She is blissfully unaware of the friends she made and has since forgotten or the home we loved so much that is now inhabited by someone else. As I put her to bed tonight, surrounded by packed boxes and bare walls, she said, “Mom, I don’t want to make new friends”, and my heart broke for her because I know exactly how she feels. Four years ago I didn’t really want any new friends, because my old friends were pretty perfect. And it turns out that making friends gets a whole lot harder the older you get. Less time, less money, more responsibility, more quirks, more baggage. I’ll be just fine on my own, I thought.

Four years have passed, and I am saying good bye to friends.

It turns out, I wasn’t fine on my own. I have never liked being on my own. I like to be surrounded by people, by noise, by activity, which is so damn fortunate considering I am the mother to three children who are in a constant state of activity and a never-ending source of noise. These good byes aren’t easy. They are not easy because over the last four years I have been surrounded by kind, thoughtful, funny, passionate, and inspiring people...and if I’m being specific, women. I have made some great male friends in Indy (sorry though, boys, you are going to take a backseat here), but the women that I have had the honor of knowing these last four years allowed me to create a home where there wasn’t one, and in many cases were my saving grace.

... There is my neighbor, my friend, who came over to hold my baby when I was the ONLY person holding my baby. She insisted I eat at the table while she held my son, who had his days and nights mixed up, and it was the first moment of peace I enjoyed in days, and the last for many days to come. That simple act of kindness reminded me in the midst of postpartum depression that I would be okay, and that it was okay to ask for help.

... There is the friend who actually called me back when I chased her husband in the parking lot of school and asked him to pass along my number. Oh, the relief when she actually called, and the anxiety of waiting to see if I had totally missed the mark.

... There is the woman who locked eyes with me across a crowded Disney store and shared with me a moment of pure bewilderment and camaraderie, and who thankfully said yes when I flat out asked her on social media, “Do you want to be friends?” I had no idea how close we would become and how much a part of our lives she would become. Saying goodbye to her was hard.

... There is the staffing professional who helped me find work when I was sporting an unmistakable pregnant belly. We were pregnant at the same time, and somehow connected after maternity leaves to start one of my favorite Indy traditions of all--beer nights. What started as a professional relationship became a deeply close connection, one that will surely win out over geography.

... And then there are the two women who make me feel cool despite taking a shower every other day {on a good week}, wearing a fanny pack unironically, and driving a minivan. Scandal nights, strategy sessions, juicy gossip. But mostly, two women with whom I can bare my soul without fear of judgment.

... There are the moms who made me feel like I belonged at my daughter’s school, you know who you are, the “cool” moms who cuss occasionally and who also sometimes forget to send mittens on a snow day. Thank you.

... And lastly, to the community of women who make up theCityMoms, thank you from the bottom of my heart. As I said before, making friends as an adult is hard. This group of women gave me opportunities to leave my house, which in and of itself was a blessing, provided a chance to connect to so many incredible women, and allowed me to start building the foundations of a new home for myself.

The last few days have been filled with tears. Some sad tears, but mostly happy ones. Sad to leave a house that has witnessed such growth in our family. Sad to end a chapter. But happiness to begin another chapter, and a chance to not only create more relationships but to nurture old ones.

I have never liked good byes.

When I was little, my grandmother would say to me, “Until next time.” So Indianapolis, thank you for the four years that have surprised me, challenged me, and enriched me.

Until next time, Indy.