Holly Hill

The other day I was reading an article about Brooke Astor that made mention of her favorite retreat, an estate in New York called Holly Hill.  I had to giggle as Holly Hill, a friend from Sussex, England I'd made in Barbados offered me a much needed break too.  She was a place for retreat and for strength when I was here in Barbados with no friends or truthfully, friends from whom I got little solace and more stress.  I miss Holly.


She was my best friend in Barbados, a friend I want to keep for life, even though she was here just a few months before she and her husband took their girls back to England.  Holly's husband was a chef like Didier, quiet, artistic, an outsider not interested in the games or politics that are often played in ex-pat communities, and a bit shy too, like Didier.  Their girls were the same age as Lily and Virginie and they played well together, all four of them.  I'd met Holly at Blossoms Nursery School as she was dropping off her daughter Daisy and immediately wanted to be her friend.  I thought of writing a note and leaving it in Daisy's schoolbag, but feared I might appear a bit desperate and slightly pathetic.  Truth was, I was desperate.  I needed a mate and got a soul sister.


Holly reminded me so much of myself when I was younger.  She is truly hopeful and a bit cheeky and irreverent and funny.  She dreams big but doesn't feel safe sharing those dreams without a laugh.  I think she can do anything if she trusts in her own strength and beauty, and I hope she will.  She understood how hard it was to have a husband who couldn't be home at night to feed the kiddies or bathe them or read to them or kiss them good night.  The life of a chef's wife can be awfully lonely.  Add two small children with demanding personalities and long hours on your own and it is depressing.  Holly made me laugh about it and all the newness of my surroundings in Barbados, even as we both struggled in this situation, and when we couldn't squeeze out a giggle, we'd listen.


I knew early on that she'd leave.  She told me herself before she'd told anyone else.  I couldn't even allow myself to feel that loss, sometimes I feel that I have still refused to let it completely touch my heart or I might break.  We chat and text nearly every day and I hear her voice in every key stroke.  As she and her husband struggle with their next move (he's had a tough time finding desirable work and a good compensation package), Didier and I wonder what's next for us.  What they are experiencing is exactly what we are afraid of.  Taking that chance.  And yet, we know that is the only way that we will be living truthfully.  Even if we lead ourselves down a tough road, it will be on our terms.

Before Holly left Barbados, we spent the last night with the families together.  Eating, drinking, playing, making promises and pledges of friendship.  Steve had left for England a week earlier for some family business, and my mother was visiting for Virginie's birthday.  As my mother is quite stoic, I was unable to really express myself freely, something I still regret.  I was a little embarrassed to just love this person so openly when I'd known her only a short time.  Tears would just explode from our faces, mid-sentence even, as the gravity of the goodbye became obvious.  Didier would look up and say, "Not again!" as one of us would be wiping our eyes, trying to paste a smile on.  The girls could not imagine what the great tragedy was, as they were playing and fooling around as usual.  And just like that, dessert was served, a little rum, and then a farewell.  A long goodbye made short by screaming kids and a steady rain falling.  I could barely speak, nor she.  But we'd both written notes and left gifts for one another. 

As I am adjusting to the reality of my life here in Barbados, and making friends and establishing my family's life here, I still think of Holly and our friendship.  I wonder what this would all be like if she were still here.  If the girls could go to school together.  If I could run around the island with a partner in crime, two toddlers in tow, slowly making peace with Barbados.  Those four to five months we spent together saved my life.  Before we began our friendship, I was plotting my escape from Barbados, maybe even from Didier who is contractually obliged to stay.  I know that is not right thinking.  And I wasn't thinking right.  But in just the moment I called for a lifeline, she came.  A breath of fresh air, a reprieve from the day to day, a laugh, and a coffee.

(c)Copyright 2010.  City Mom in the Jungle.