When I went back to work a few years ago as a civilian nurse on a Postpartum ward, I was given the biggest revelation...that extended families grow and experience milestones together. Our postpartum rooms were always filled with extended family. Flowers in vases covered surfaces and balloons engulfed the ceilings, and we constantly had to remind folks when visiting hours were over. Rooms were so crowded I apologized whenever I had to interrupt.
It was a revelation because nomadic families don't have this support all of the time. We learn to birth and grow our families physically on our own. While we always know of the support of our families, we might not have the opportunity to experience it firsthand, and with such ease. Such is our life, and we've accepted it.
But what we've lacked in families, we've found in friends.
We cooked together
We drank and ate together.
We washed each other's dishes.
We saw each other tired from work.
We complained about our husbands.
We held each other's babies.
We talked on the phone at all hours of the day.
We giggled at everything.
We cried at almost nothing at all.
And while years pass between visits - what else would you expect from nomadic families - the vibe remains, of stability and trust, and the only things really different are the extra feet running down our hallways and the tiny lines on our face.
But I have something to share.
Although we as nomadic families are conditioned to say, "I'll see you later," rather than "goodbye"; although we raise each other in optimism, to seek adventure and friendship in all corners of where we find ourselves in. And although we are, actually, very good at blooming where we are planted, the revelation settles in, again and again.
That, indeed, we are sometimes left to raise ourselves. And we miss having our families nearby. And we don't like to say "see you later" to very good friends.
We chose our life without regret, but we wish the world is just a little smaller sometimes.
