The Family who Showed Me a Different Way to Love

I was sixteen years old when I walked into Michelle's house and discovered families could hug each other for no special reason…except for just because.

At the time, I didn't realize that simple thing would change me.

This week, Michelle turned seventy, and all month I've found myself thinking about her, her family, and the gift they gave me without ever knowing they were giving it.

When you're fortunate enough to have lifelong friends as I do, and you're 68 years old, you take nothing for granted. You start paying attention to the people who shaped your life and helped make you who you are.

I actually met Michelle’s sister, Renee, first. We went to school together, and Renee was the kind of person you just wanted to be around…warm, genuine, the real deal. I loved her from the moment I met her. Then I transferred schools, and there was Michelle…the same quality of person. I don't think that's a coincidence. I think that's just what that family produces.

Michelle, Renee, and some of our friends got into all kinds of glorious escapades together in the way only teenage girls with adventurous personalities can. One night, cruising central as we did back then, we were pulled over by a police car. While this was happening, the friend driving slowed, turned onto a side street, and jumped into the passenger seat, telling Michelle to drive. During this exchange, the car drove up onto the sidewalk and hit the side of the bank. No damage to the bank or the car, thankfully. Michelle got a ticket for not wearing her glasses. And the best part? Michelle's parents didn't find out until she was ready to tell them.

In my senior year, my parents moved to another state, and they agreed to let me stay behind and finish high school, living with Michelle's family, who generously offered. I had grown up in a cowboy family. Good people, strong people, people who loved you…they just didn't always say it out loud or hug and love the way some families do. That was just how it was. It's also why walking into Michelle's house felt like stepping into a different world entirely, and why I loved it so much.

Her family was Italian, and they loved BIG, all the time, without apology. Every time someone walked into a room, they saw you…and there were hugs. Lots of them. Every time someone left, there were the same number of I love you's. They didn't care who was around. It was just the natural expression of how they felt about each other. And that warmth didn't stop at the front door of the immediate family. The extended family was the same way. Aunts, cousins, neighbors, and me…this girl who had shown up needing somewhere to land…all of us folded right in.

They told me I was beautiful, lovable, and precious. And I kept waiting for the moment the warmth would have conditions, because I hadn't seen that kind of unconditional love up close. It didn't come. They just loved you. That was it. That was the whole thing.

When we'd go out on weekend nights and get into the kind of scrapes teenagers get into, we could call Michelle's dad at any hour. He came every time, no matter what time it was, with that smile on his face. Her mother always had food ready when we got home. There was always a giant container of Baskin-Robbins German chocolate cake ice cream in that house, and I still think about those after-hours nights sitting in Michelle's mom's kitchen, eating ice cream, sharing our adventures, and laughing till we peed.

What those months taught me was something I didn't even have language for yet. I was strong…I'd always been strong…but I learned that strength and softness aren't opposites, and I hadn't seen them living together in a home before.  I was also learning what belonging felt like. Michelle's family had it all. They were fierce and tender with each other in equal measure. That combination settled into me and stayed.

A few short years later, I was married and became a mother…young and carrying everything my own upbringing had given me. But I knew one thing without question: my children would know they were loved, every single day, many times a day, through words, touch, and presence. That ‘knowing’ came directly from Michelle's family. They gifted me something I hadn't known to look for, and I knew it was something I would pass on to my own children.

And then life kept going, the way it does, and Michelle and I kept going with it…sometimes together and sometimes not, but always coming back.

Michelle and Gene, also a high school friend, married years later. They introduced Harold, Gene's best friend, and me…and Harold turned out to be another gift from this family entirely. He's the person I hug and tell "I love you" to every single day now.

The adventures didn't stop because we got older. They just matured with us. It's the four of us now…Michelle and her Gene, me and my Harold, sometimes our funny friend, Karen, and others… finding our way into all kinds of good trouble and good living.  We get cabins in the mountains together, take walks, eat well, and explore. They visited us in the Pacific Northwest, and Harold and Gene went salmon fishing. Another time, we all played cornhole on the back deck as the tide rolled in, easy and unhurried, and we sat there, feeling the joy of our friendship. 

We still make time to share life together. Harold and I are vagabonds, currently in Montana. Montana and Arizona are not exactly neighbors, but distance has never been what determines whether a friendship is real. And every single time we're together, the hugs are still there, the "I love you's" are still there, the laughter comes just as easily as it did when we were seventeen and doing something we probably shouldn't have been doing.

My friend just turned seventy. She is beautiful in every way… thick, dark, ravishing hair and smiling, twinkling brown eyes, a heart of gold, and she is, without question, a force. She is a mother and a grandmother, still working in the airline industry, still showing up, and has strong opinions. Underneath all of that is a woman of real strength, real tenderness, and real staying power. She grew into her wisdom naturally. I have watched it happen over decades, and I am grateful I had a front-row seat.

Here's what I want to leave you with: I don't think this story is only about Michelle, even though it started with her birthday. Most of us have someone. A person, a family, a certain time in our lives when we were shown something about love, warmth, or belonging that we hadn't seen clearly before. Someone who handed us a mirror and let us see ourselves a little more kindly. If you're lucky, you still know them. If you're lucky, you've told them.

I'm telling mine now. Happy birthday, Michelle. Thank you to your family. Thank you, Renee. Thank you for all those years of friendship, mischief, adventures, and love. Seventy looks absolutely stunning on you. If I were with you, I would give you the biggest hug…but since I'm not, just know: I love you.

Diana

Love is ALL there is