Anam cara, an ode to friendship

Anam Cara. Soul friend. It’s a term from the Gaelic, reserved for the person to whom you can reveal the hidden depths of your soul. Unlike a soul mate, a soul friend does have not a physical connotation. This is a spiritual connection and a representation of recognition and belonging in the sense of friendship. My soul mate is my husband, Jeff, but my soul friend is Sheryl.

Sheryl and I met when I was in the sixth grade, and she was in the fifth. Having just moved to the suburbs, I needed a friend badly. Our friendship continues to this very day. Fifty-six years and counting.

As children, we walked or were driven to school together every day. After school we played in the park or hung out at her house, probably driving her mother crazy. We played what we called make-up games. These had nothing to do with foundation or blush, but games where we made up scenarios and acted them out. We were in our horse-loving phase, and our games reflected that. If we weren’t pretending to ride or care for horses, we were pretending to be horses. Once in high school, we focused on schoolwork. We studied Latin together, and I cheered her on in volleyball, myself being too awkward to play any sport.

Some of our conversations were mundane, focused on school projects and what to wear. Some were profound, delving into the mysteries of the future and what we would be like when we grew up. We talked. And talked. And talked some more. We didn’t always agree, but we learned to respect each other’s right to have a different viewpoint. We shared our fears and dreams as perhaps we never shared with anyone else before or since. Our psyches were safe with each other for there was no judgment, no jealousy. We only wanted what was best for each other.

My favorite times were spent at her family’s vacation spot in Michigan, a resort hotel property. The hotel had once been a magnet for tourists in the early half of the twentieth century, but times changed, and it was out of favor by the time I met Sheryl. I finagled an invitation to the lake every chance I could.

Her father would take us out water skiing. I never did get the hang of slalom but had a great time jumping the waves with two skis. However, I did have a bit of a problem with bathing suits. I managed to lose my top twice while skiing, one time giving Sheryl’s father and little brother quite an eyeful. One-piece suits are a better fit for me.

We fished occasionally. One time Sheryl’s grandmother cooked the blue gills we caught, but she made us clean them first. We picked strawberries–a hot, dirty job–but worth it because Grandma made strawberry pie with them.

We snuck into the Inn-D-Inn next door to play pool. The bar was technically off limits per Sheryl’s mom, but it was one of our few transgressions.

Not that it was all fun and games. Grandma was a serious taskmaster. Even though no guests arrived, she still wanted the hotel ready just in case. Every weekend, we tore newspapers into strips, then soaked them in water. We swept the wet strips down the long hallway, which managed to attract dust and sand no matter the lack of traffic.

Grandma kept the beach area up, too. One year, erosion had altered the shape of the beach, so she made us shovel sand from one end to the other to even out the shape of the beach. To this day, I don’t know if she did that because it was needed or if she just wanted us to be busy and stay out of trouble (perhaps away from the pool table?).

Their lake property included a cottage that they rented out during the summer months. I helped to clean it between renters. I didn’t mind the work. (Okay, I grumbled and complained, but what kid wouldn’t?) I did understand that this work was my room and board payment. And maybe it meant they saw me as part of the family by then.

Sheryl and I went to different colleges, but our friendship remained. We had summers together, at least. Then we each got married, and long periods of separation ensued, but the friendship remained. She moved out West, I moved to Michigan. The friendship remained.

As children we spoke every day. As adults we have gone months, even years, without speaking. Not because we were angry at each other, but because we each had our own lives that demanded so much of us.

Two weeks ago, we were able to get together at the old lake property. The hotel has long since been demolished and the land sold, but Sheryl’s sister kept the cottage land, although she built a new cottage.

We hadn’t seen each other in about six or seven years, but there was nothing awkward about our meeting. We simply looked at each and said, “Okay, where were we?” and picked up our conversation as if we had spoken just yesterday.

Our time together was short, so we didn’t have time to make new memories, so we sat and shared the old stories. We had new family members around us, husbands and children, who enjoyed hearing the history of the place.

Over the years, Sheryl and I have gone through all of life’s trials and joys, together in spirit, if not always in physical presence. This not a friendship that requires constant tending and attention. It simply is. God willing, it remains this strong forever.

Our friendship has moved far beyond the shared activities of two children playing games in the park and studying together. Over time, we formed a bond where time and place no longer intrude. We both know that we would not be the strong women we are today if not for the understanding and support of each other. Who knows when Sheryl and I will meet again in person? But our friendship will not suffer from the time apart. We are never separated in spirit.

I hope you have an anam cara in your life.