This is what our lives have looked like since APRIL 22ND. It is now May 16th and we are still without basic things like a real bed, chairs that don't collapse, or things like cooking utensils. Thankfully our things arrive tomorrow (!!!!!) and by the end of the weekend, knowing Adam and I, every single item will be put away by Sunday night. When you go without your things for weeks and then you suddenly have them all again you enter a state of frantic unpacking and refuse to stop until everything is complete.
Recently I was thinking about the last home cooked meal we had. It was April 25th, the night before we were leaving Alaska. We had planned to eat something like a frozen pizza as our cooking utensils had been taken away two days earlier, but then we received the most wonderful offer. Two dear friends arrived with halibut chili, cornbread, toppings, beer, and even bowls and spoons. They served up the meal and afterwards sat on our bare floor with us.
These two had been the reason we'd loved Alaska. The first weekend we arrived they invited us over for Cinco de Mayo burritos. Welcome to Alaska! They'd invited us to dinners, parties, and introduced us to their friends. We went backpacking, fishing, made dinner, enjoyed drinks, watched hockey, played games, laughed, and when Adam and I found ourselves alone on Christmas, they joined us for dinner and a movie. We watched each other's dogs, took vacations together (or "couples retreats" as Adam once drunkenly coined them), and they helped us explore and fall in love Alaska.
On that final night in Alaska it was fitting we spent it with the people who helped make Alaska such an amazing place.
Sipping beers on our bare floors we all seemed a little quieter than normal. We knew this was our last night in Alaska, and although we'd see each other at the wedding, and we knew they'd come visit us in Chicago, this was our last, Hey want to have dinner together? I'll be over in ten, moment.
When we hugged good-bye that final time I came upstairs and cried, for the hundredth time that week, as these are the kind of friends where when they knew we had nothing, brought us something.
So we sit in our empty house this week, waiting for our things and I think of them. It makes me sad to know they aren't here now in Chicago, that we can't turn to them for comedic relief and support in this moment, but I'm also so thankful. That they were there in Alaska. That they wanted to be around us as much as we wanted to be around them. That we'll be together in some 50 odd days at the wedding. That they'll come to Chicago and we'll visit them in Alaska.
That we are lucky enough to know them at all...