Chapter 7: I Lose My Family (Again) But Gain Another

"Mr Frodo, sir?"

I looked up. Sam, who had been quietly weeding while I transplanted some nasturdians, was sitting back on his heels, looking at me thoughtfully.

"Yes, Sam?"

He blushed suddenly. "Nothin'."

I recognized his "not sure if it's my place to ask" look and smiled in a friendly way at him. "What do you want to know, Sam?
Sam looked down at the weed he held in his dirty hand. "Well, sir, I've been wondering. You said once that the Elves are going away–away from Middle Earth. And I wondered what you meant."

I smiled at the tween and put my trowel down. "Well, Sam, the Elves are leaving. They are sailing across the Sundering Seas. They pass through the Shire, sometimes, on their way to the Grey Havens, and from there, they sail to Aman."

"Why must they leave? If you don't mind my askin'." Sam added quickly.
"Of course I don't. The Elves don't belong here, not really. At least, that is what Gandalf says. I don't quite understand myself." I admitted.

Sam nodded. His round brown eyes were fixed on my face.

"Anything else you would like to know?" I teased him gently.

He grinned and ducked his head. "No, thank you, Mr. Frodo. That's all for now."

Somehow, that conversation stayed with me. I remember it clearly, though it was before Bilbo left the Shire. It may have been that that afternoon in the garden was the first time I realized that, while Sam Gamgee spoke to me as his master, I thought of him as a friend.

Sam was the one who comforted me when Bilbo left. After my uncle disappeared during our joint birthday party, I ran up to the Hill and went into the house to look for him, knowing that it was a vain gesture, but desperate to prove my heart wrong. But my heart was right. Bilbo was gone. And with that realization, I was so devastated that I sat down in my front hallway and cried and begged him to come back, knowing all the time that, once again, it was in vain. I had left the front door open, and as I buried my face deeper into my arms and wept, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I refused to look up, but I recognized Sam's smell and the rhythm of his breathing.

"It's a hard thing, isn't it, Mr. Frodo." he said gently. "Losin' someone so dear to you."

"Oh, Sam." I sobbed. "He's gone."

"I know."

We sat together on the floor, Sam rubbing gentle circles across my back as I cried. When at last I was too exhausted to cry any longer, Sam helped me to my bedroom, stepped out while I changed into my nightclothes, then got me a cup of water and then tucked me into bed so knackily that, for some reason, I felt better. He sat by my side until I fell asleep.

I can't deny that I felt like a failure. Couldn't anyone love me enough to stay with me? I knew that that was unreasonable. My parents hadn't meant to die, and Bilbo still loved me, wherever he was. But still, I grieved the loss of a parent all over again, and it hurt. My friends were wonderful. Merry Brandybuck would go on long walks with me, even on my grumpy days where I didn't feel like talking. Pippin Took, another cousin and a favorite of mine, was in rather poor health that year (he had been born early and had several dangerous close calls with sickness in his childhood and tweens) but he was so rambunctious that he never failed to cheer me up and make me laugh. I was also terribly fond of my friends Folco Boffin and Fredeger Bolger, but Merry and Pippin were family, and just then I needed a family. Unfortunately, Sam Gamgee wasn't a relative, but I solved that problem by declaring him adopted. My patchwork family–a cheerful gardener, a Brandybuck (that is an adjective that means intelligent and stupid at the same time), and an adorable prankster with an uncanny knack for trouble–couldn't shut out the lonely feelings, but they helped. They helped a lot.