I've been thinking about true friends, and the different ways they come in and out of your life. I'm going to try out an analogy and see if it works...
Let's say my life is a House, and I am the Owner.
I'd say that my family--mom, dad, and sister--are Architects. I build the House and have the final say in its making, but they are the ones who design it and choose what kind of house it will be...brick or stone, backyard or pool, how many stories, where to place the windows and doors etc. Next come my most prominent teachers and mentors, the ones who guide and inspire me. They're the Interior Designers. The changes they make to the House are less immediately or outwardly visible, and their contributions must accommodate decisions already put in place by my family. Ideally, they enhance and emphasize the Architects' achievements, while minimizing and concealing possible mistakes.
Then, there are companions...the ones that leave footprints on the heart, the ones that affect my views and passions. I hesitate to use the word "friend," because it seems at once too vague and too specific. By "companion," I mean anyone I'd view on equal ground as myself--like a peer, but more personal. Thus far in my life, I can think of four categories of "footprint companions," and four people to represent these categories. (For privacy's sake, I'll refer to them as if they are all male, even though they're not--sorry, the glass ceiling still exists in my writing...it's easier than saying "he/she," anyway.) So here they are.
The Mailman- The Mailman is constant and reliable. His job is indispensable, and his visits to the House make me excited and happy. (Who doesn't love getting mail?) The Mailman's presence is something I can always count on, and it's difficult to remember a day when his smiling face and cheerful voice weren't there for me when I needed them. Because of his reliability and seemingly simple nature, I sometimes take him for granted. I wait for him to come to my House, ring my doorbell, and deliver my mail; it is less common that I go to the post office to deliver things and pick things up myself. The Mailman never fails, rain or shine. Even in a storm, he can be seen trudging up my driveway with an umbrella, poncho, and his usual good spirits. Times with the Mailman are usually easygoing and casual. We discuss light-hearted stuff, joking and laughing. But because of the frequency of his visits, he has seen me at my best and worst. He's been there for every mistake, disappointment, failure, heartbreak...and though during those low points, I am too preoccupied to truly appreciate his presence, he is there...not for too long, not to discuss the nitty and gritty...but simply, to be there. He always has been, and always will be. A seemingly simple role he plays, most of the time, and yet...without him, I couldn't survive. Love you too, Mailman.
The Gardener- The Gardener didn't start coming to my House until it was developed enough to have a garden. Gardens take time, patience, and experience. They also depend on the seasons...they are a cycle of growth and decay, ripeness and rot, joy and sorrow. I met the Gardener when the first flowers in my yard started to bloom. He helped arrange the plants, find the correct tools and fertilizer and sunlight to make them grow as best as possible. The Gardener brought vibrant colors into my life and taught me how to appreciate beauty to its fullest. The nature of his profession means that I only see the Gardener during certain seasons. He comes at the beginning of spring, when blossoms are due to appear, and he helps them along, encouraging them and preparing them for their journey. Then he steps back and lets them flourish on their own. When winter rolls around, he returns to clean up dried-up petals, rake dead leaves, and clear away old roots. During periods when I don't see the Gardener--when my garden is either doing fine on its own or simply inactive--I keep him in mind, and the lessons he taught me are present in my everyday actions. When he does show up, his presence is significant and consequential...he can change the essence of my House in one visit. My Gardener shows me how to make the House beautiful, and taught me what it means to celebrate humanity.
The Stray- The Stray cat showed up unexpectedly at my doorstep one night. He was soft, fluffy, and very cute. He was also alone, seemingly helpless and in need of shelter. I let him in with caution; after all, you never know where a stray has been. He turned out to be a sweet creature--loving, endearing, and capricious. Everyone who saw my new favorite visitor of the House fell in love with his charm and perfection. I let him explore every room of the House, even ones I guarded with the utmost privacy. I couldn't say that the Stray belonged to me, but he visited so often, left his mark in so many nooks and crannies, that I believed he would stay forever. One day, without warning, the Stray was gone. There are many possible reasons for his departure--perhaps he found a bigger house with more food and better company. Maybe he grew tired of the House...the mess in the closet, the stain on the carpet I hid under a couch, the bathroom window that was stuck shut. But most likely, the Stray is simply that--a stray. He's never meant to belong to anyone, at least not yet, and I learned to accept this, as confusing and frustrating as I found it. Certainly I'm not the first to lose him, and I probably won't be the last. And as wonderful as he was at making my House that much of a better place in which to live, he is, above all else, a being unto himself, one who lives by himself and for himself. It is what it is.
The Roofer- A Roofer is needed at all times, but most importantly in the aftermath of bad weather. Sometimes, one or two lone tiles from the roof are blown off by a gust of wind. Other times, a hailstorm sweeps in, and I must call the Roofer in a panic, so he can fix the holes. The Roofer knows my House inside out. He knows its weaknesses and faults, where to step lightly and where it holds strong...and he fixes a situation as if it were the easiest thing in the world. The Roofer isn't my most frequent visitor, nor does he always come at the exact moment I wish him to. He has other appointments...or else, the storm is blowing too hard for him to do his job safely. Once, I asked him to check a few loose tiles on the side roof, and though a recent rain had rendered the rooftop precariously slippery, he eventually agreed. Halfway through, he lost his footing and fell to the ground, breaking a few bones. Though he didn't blame me, I could not forgive myself for causing him pain and damage. He told me it would be a while before he could walk again, and only if he took a break would his wounds heal. But he promised he would return. In his absence, the House suffered. When it rained, leaks in the roof opened up; the water seeping in were like giant tears that dampened the rooms. Nobody else could mend the damage. There is only one Roofer, and I knew it still was not safe for him to return. Finally one day, he showed up on my doorstep. His arm was in a sling, and a scar was visible on his cheek, but he was walking again. True to his promise, he came back. Gradually he returned to fixing things--cracks, holes, chipped tiles...but the past cannot be erased, and scars don't disappear...it will be a while before he can climb onto the roof again. There is a ladder I always leave propped up, though, waiting for when the time is right.
