Circle the Wagons

I am blessed to have several people in my life that are friends who’ve become family. The oldest of these relationships is my incredible sister-friend Jen. Jenny and I met because our grandparents lived next to each other in military housing close to 75 years ago. Our grandparents became best friends, their kids became best friends, their grandkids became extended family and now their great-grandchildren don’t even bother to differentiate between friends and family. Boogie is named after Jen’s husband, who is literally the best human being I’ve ever known. We might not share a bloodline, but these people are my family. A chance housing assignment on a California Army base created a cornerstone of my life’s foundation.

When Jen’s brother-in-law and best friend was killed in Afghanistan, her world blew to smithereens. And I remember talking to her in the midst of that maelstrom, even before the funeral and the ceremonies. She was telling me about the Army Chaplain coming to her house and that her family immediately came. They surrounded her and shared the loss together. Jen called it Circling the Wagons and the phrase has resonated with me in the years since, because I love the visual it creates. I picture a group of battle weary cavalrymen fighting back to back with the babies in the middle. The idea of surrounding the vulnerable to protect them from the outside world is beautiful, isn’t it? Isn’t that the perfect physical manifestation of the faith I claim?

The wagon circle has an inherent weakness, though. It requires that everyone participating be fully engaged, fully in, fully prepared. If you’ve got a broken wagon, you can’t join the circle. You might want to, but you just won’t have the ability to chase a bear away from the little ones if you’re busy mending your own broken axle. I am a firm believer in grace and a presumption of good intentions, but it can be a hard perspective to maintain from the middle of the circle. I am really sorry that your wagon’s broken, but did you see the size of that bear?!? I’m still about to get gobbled up over here.

I have spent the last twenty years of my life circling around those who needed it – my grandfather, then my grandmother, my aunt then my mom. And I will readily admit that I fully expected to take my turn in the middle of the circle as I grieve and ache and gasp, but the people standing around me and holding me up are not the faces I expected. I have leaned upon lifelong pillars of strength like Jen and Melissa and my MoMo and my dad. I have found new sisters-in-arms in friendships I didn’t even know I was missing before this all began. There have also been some wagons I expected who never showed up at all. The gaps in my circle are a different kind of loss, and in some ways more painful. Mom didn’t have a choice in sitting this one out. Everyone else’s participation is strictly voluntary.

Glennon Doyle says that horseshoes are better than circles because we need to leave space for newcomers. I’m trying to reframe my mental narrative and look at these circle gaps not as spots of abandonment, but opportunities to let new relationships grow. I am incredibly thankful for my tribe, blood related or not. I will not cheapen their contributions by focusing on the absence of others. I am choosing to focus on the strength I draw from all of you, the light you shine in my darkened corners, the grace I have found to fall completely to pieces. Grief is a friendship crucible that burns the dross away. What’s left is purity and strength of relationship. What’s left is a circle of gold.

Thank you for surrounding me in light and encouragement and love. Thank you for letting me be an unapologetic mess. Thank you for walking this road with me, for joining my wagon circle. I need you more than you know.