Skip to main content

Thank you for being a friend...

I flip old photo albums, and rifle through past love letters or letters written to me in my most homesick moments in college. I hear from a friend of a friend that their lives went on just fine without me. The old wound opens and what comes from its gaping mouth is a certain sense of grief.
Over the course of our lifetimes, we meet so many people, and perhaps make many casual acquaintances, but a true and steadfast friend is a rarity. It could be the girl, who in 4th grade, had to hold her purple pleather pants up with both hands while trying to run the laps in gym class. Or the other girl who drunkenly made up (or helped to make up) your high school nickname. It could be the girl who sat with you during American history, who made you laugh till you peed a little. Perhaps the college roommate whom you fought with constantly, or the other college roommate whose parents sent you Halloween care packages. Or, it could be the boy who brought you a rose on Valentine's Day freshman year because your own boyfriend had forgotten you.
Regardless of how you met or befriended them, the friendship got you through times you thought were nothing short of devastating. They were your broad shoulders upon which to cry when you were dumped, your empathetic ear when all seemed lost, and the one who held your hair back for you the first time you were stupid enough to drink blackberry brandy. In a way, I think most of us assume that all of our relationships will be eternal, and perhaps often take them for granted. We let petty arguments grow into mountains, and forget simple days that mean so much to them. Our own worlds are so large and encompassing, we become absorbed in ourselves and our own minutiae.
And then those people, whom we loved fiercely and loyally, begin to drop off, like lost meteors escaping their path through the galaxy, and like those meteors, it is a near impossibility to track them down. At first, you reassure yourself that either you will get them back, or that they were unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. But once it hits you, there is a certain grief that swallows you in tiny gulps. Little reminders left behind have your heart aching a bit. You realize
the person you cared so much for will never again grace your home, your phone, your heart.
I have managed, through Facebook, to find several people I once thought to be lost in the infinite galaxy, and yet others I know will forever deliberately keep themselves off of my grid out of resentment or anger, or perhaps even pity. At one time, I may have felt wronged by this, by these days, as I see my life passing so quickly, all I can find is this:
I wish you a lovely life. Healthy children and healthy marriages. I wish you prosperous enough to coast, and yet not so bloated with wealth that you lose your vision. I wish you joy in the small things, like canoeing a lake or feeding babies ice cream. I wish you peace with your past, peace with your decisions, and peace with your family. And if one day, in the recesses of your beautiful mind, you happen to remember our late night talks, or slumber parties or sundae making fiascos, you get a little warmer, because I still am holding you close.

Comments

  1. I can only think that this gives a voice to what happened to me today. I love you so much, you have been a part of my life for almost a decade. Although we have only seen each other once since you left, it is as though you live next door....you are in my life daily. You are as strong as I am, possibly stronger, you are an inspiration to me as a mother, you are a cheerleader for me to succeed and to be happy...above all you listen and give frank, honest, unconditionally loving advice and insight. You are one of my most cherished friends.

    ReplyDelete
  2. First of all let's say a thanks to Facebook for reuniting us back together after over a decade. Time changes all things; you grow up, grow out and grow into friendships.

    Friends are like clothes, you wear them around because it makes you feel good, there is comfort in them, sometimes you hold onto them for a long time, sometimes they rip and you can repair it; and sometimes you can't. You can always get new ones and start all over again too.

    There are reasons for everything, you may not nor ever realize why this or that happens. Just make an outfit for the day and enjoy!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

We are damned if we stay silent, and damned if we speak.

When I was nineteen years old, only a year into adulthood, and only hesitantly an adult, a man sexually assaulted me. We had met in our apartment complex one night, at the community pool. He was good looking, a military man, cocky and confident, and I was going through the end of my first relationship away from my small hometown. I invited him into my home. I kissed him. I let him into my bedroom. That was where my permission ended. When I told him no, he proceeded to try to shove his genitalia up the leg of my shorts, and when I began to cry and told him to stop or I would scream, he told me I was a tease. And I felt guilt. I am going to say that again- I felt GUILT. As a girl, I had been preconditioned to believe that I could feel bad for getting a guy "worked up", and I didn't kick him out. I slept on the floor next to my bed, while he slept in my bed, and I woke to him trying to do the same thing, only to my face. That time, I was done. Typing these words out makes ...

Field of Dreams

A tiny little boy in his Yankee cap, perched on the battered wood in the dugout waves to me, and I realize he is my boy. He has the flushed cheeks of an Irishman, and his hat is a bit askew. He has the nonchalance of a real ball player, and for just a moment, I am left breathless. A boy who only yesterday was struggling with his first steps, is now the beginnings of a tiny man, and I am a surreptitious observer behind a fence. I watch him joke with his friends, his effervescent grin spreading light throughout the dugout, his foot on the bench only slightly too small for the cleat it inhabits. I want to tell him I love him, but it will embarrass him, so I turn my head to damper the urge. There are a thousand boys in the fields tonight. Some reluctantly, there to satisfy their father's need for vicariousness. Aging dads, with rounded paunches creeping over their belts, their caps hiding thinning hair and grey are holding clipboards and calling for the Mikeys, the Lukes, the Nicks to ...

Pura Vida

I have always been a bit nervous about traveling, I suppose it's the fear of the unknown. Although, at age 18, I moved across the country to a place I had seen only twice in my life, alone, so I'm not always a scaredy cat. Having gone to Italy in February, and now Costa Rica this week, I believe the wanderlust within me has awoken. The two trips were as vastly different as they could be. In Italy, we spent a week viewing man-made treasures, art in opulent and majestic galleries. We feasted on cheese and wine and pasta, and then feasted again on the rich sights of the Vatican. We took trains to the beautiful cities of Pisa, Florence, Milan, Rome and Montecatini. The days were filled from morning till night, sometimes blending into each other like watercolors, where we had forgotten what we had seen until we could process it days later. It was a week of history, and art, and beauty and family. This week, in Guanacaste, has also been about beauty and family, but entirely differ...