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Left BehindWhat happened when my son's best friend moved away.

By Rachael LarimorePosted Thursday, Sept. 11, 2008, at 4:05 PM ET

Also in Slate, Emily Bazelon writes about what it's like for the kids who move away.

Illustration by Robert Neubecker. Click image to expand.When my husband and I opted to build a home in a new development three years ago, we had control over the floor plan, the carpets, the countertops, even the wall color (tan or beige). But one thing was out of our control, and it was a biggie: With only one other house completed on our street, we couldn't glean any clues about the neighbors. There were no minivans, swing sets, or yards littered with toys—just empty lots. Would our new 'hood be full of kids, and, if so, would they be the right age to play with our 2-year-old son?

We lucked out. Within a few months, we had nine kids between the ages of 2 and 7 on our little street. (A streetwide baby boom later raised that number to an even dozen.) Everybody had a playmate or two their own age, and the cul-de-sac was often filled with kids on bikes and trikes. We socialized with our new neighbors and had impromptu cookouts. But we were most excited about the family who moved in next door—like us, they were from out of state, and they had a daughter a few months younger than our son. We bonded over our outsider status, getting lost on unfamiliar streets, and poking fun at the local delicacy, Skyline chili. But what really brought us together was that our Brandon and their Sammy became fast friends.

At 2, Brandon was just moving out of "independent" play and starting to understand the give-and-take of friendship. And I liked that he had a little girl for a playmate. Brandon's interactions with her were very different from those when he played with his cousins, all boys. The two would be laughing one minute, then crying about not wanting to share the next. As they turned 3 and 4, they went from being good buddies to being inseparable. They'd stay up late on the weekend watching movies, sneaking into the pantry to find snacks and falling asleep on opposite ends of the couch. And they were remarkably protective of each other—if a sibling or another friend was mean to one of them, the other would leap to the defense.

We thought it was cute when they told us they were married, at least until I went for my parent-teacher conference at preschool, and the teacher said she couldn't give Brandon the highest mark for playing well with others because there was one student he fought with constantly. "Who?" I asked, extremely concerned.

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"Samantha," the teacher replied. "I don't know what it is, but they really act like a married couple." She explained they couldn't be separated. If one did need some time alone, the other would melt down, feelings hurt.

Alas, it was not a marriage meant to last. Samantha's dad accepted a job in another state, eight hours away. He moved in January, and the rest of the family stayed to finish out the school year. We had plenty of time to get used to the idea before we had to tell Brandon, but it was one of our first big challenges as parents.

What concerned me, beyond the thought of breaking the news to him, was that having a friend move away might be hard on him in different ways than if we were the ones moving. Sammy had new discoveries to look forward to—a new house, new friends, more time with her grandparents, who lived nearby. Brandon's life would be the same, except for a gaping hole.

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Rachael Larimore is Slate's copy chief and deputy managing editor.
Illustration by Robert Neubecker.
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