My little brother has a baby I haven't met

There are 630 miles between Salt Lake City and Portland. Henry, I can count that out for you on your abacus. Lucy, I can draw you a map. But whatever the demonstration, you should understand this distance because it plays a large part in our lives and in the connections between our little family unit and the rest of my people.

Your dad and I moved to Oregon thinking the distance from family would be good for us – a great chance for privacy and adventure, only a quick flight away. That was pretty much the truth, too. For a lot of the years the distance felt easy and helpful even. We really needed the space to grow into ourselves and into our marriage.

But I've carried a homesickness that has never really gone away. Sometimes it's a dull ache. Other times it is a throbbing pain, heavy and constant. I want my family. I want my people. I want my big blue sky and mountains. Quit it already with all of this green!

And sometimes I feel angry or sad (or both) about the mere existence of the distance and the separation and the homesickness.

That is what I'm feeling right now. Right now - when everything, every day feels full of Significance! Maybe not the earth changing kind of significance or news headline kind – but the personal kind. The family kind. Henry can sing the alphabet. Lucy grew another shoe size. I'm learning how to play bridge.

A thousand of these details go by and no one at home even knows. Meanwhile, all of these small changes are adding up to evolution - I'm a totally different person than I was 2 years ago. My family relationships have stayed the same. That feels pretty awful.

When we visit Utah, we do connect quickly and have a great time. You both seem comfortable with everyone right away. In that, we are lucky. But it still leaves us a "vacation" sort of family. As apposed to an "everyday, regular-life, you know my friends, stop in for breakfast, meet you at Costco" kind of family. Our travel-selves can't stop by for dinner without flying in and commandeering the whole family schedule for a week.

And there just is no replacement for everyday, family closeness. No amount of traveling back and forth will quite do it. And even the best of friendships can't fill the same empty hole. But I try - filling the hole I mean - with friendships, and work, and weekend adventures, and maybe just lots of busy-ness so the emptiness isn't so noticeable. It feels too lonely to stand still.

So months keep going by and suddenly, my little brother has a baby I haven't met. How can that be?!

I'll tell you how - 630 miles x a family of 4 x the universe.

Ugh. It's not an equation I like. That "easy distance" isn't so easy anymore. With 4 of us - it is just a much bigger deal to travel, by plane or otherwise. There are routines and obligations to think through. A massive amount of stuff required to get through the day. Work schedules. School schedules. Holiday schedules.

And the expense. It used to be around $180 to fly round trip. Right now, the plane tickets are more like $300. For the first time, someone considering the trip isn't coming because flights are just too expensive. And I don't blame them. Besides, it would be a lot of pressure to make a trip here as worthwhile as flying to a warm beach getaway.

That comforting feeling of knowing I could fly home anytime has been pulled out of my back pocket, dropped into a Northwest mud puddle, and stomped on. I'm left feeling marooned and even a little frightened. What have I done arranging my life this way? How can this be the way things are?

So I'm sad. I'm sad about 630 miles and $300 dollars and changing shoe sizes and cute songs and friday-night dinner which we won't be inviting cousins over for.

And I'm really sad I haven't hugged Dave since he became a dad or met his baby Esther.