Gone But Not Forgotten

         For 30 years I nurtured a friendship that was as constant as it was satisfying. It anchored me and gave me a safe place to belong. Without it I’d never have made it through some very rough times, nor would I have had so much joy sharing the best times. For 30 years my friend and I told each other everything. It’s not a cliché to say we laughed and cried together. During those 30 years we talked each other through weddings, births, deaths, and the ups and downs of our marriages. We navigated  the sharp reefs of young adulthood together, staying married, raising children, and forging what I thought was a lifelong bond.

Birthdays were special for us. We celebrated at museums, on home tours, shopping for antiques, or attending plays followed with a long meal somewhere new. Two days a year were blissfully filled with effortless conversation, good food, and something new to see. I’d think of a couple of things my friend might like to do and then give her a choice.  One year she wanted to browse the high end thrift shops in Pasadena looking for antiques.  Another year she took me to the Los Angeles Museum of Art in remembrance of my mother who had a favorite painting there that I longed to see again. 

We traded stories and advice about child rearing, supporting and validating each other. Both of us have one daughter and a younger son so we have lots in common. We could tell each other the worst stories about our children and know that neither parent nor child was judged. We loved and appreciated all four of our children.

Our husbands were roommates in college which is how  we met. Because of  our husbands’ close relationship as well as our own, we occasionally vacationed together.  Our families visited Hawaii when the kids were young and we drove to Mammoth Mountain, winter and summer, with kids and without. We cooked and ate lots and lots of meals together, sometimes planned, sometimes spur of the moment. As we all got older and our extended families spread out, we started to spend some Thanksgivings and Christmases together. Those were the best holidays spent with our best friends and filled with laughter, conversation, and love.

Then about two years ago something happened. I don’t know what. But I know when it started. My friend’s grandmother died and she didn’t tell me until weeks had passed.  How odd not to call me when something so important had happened in her life. I was surprised and a little hurt.  Some months later when we met for lunch  a couple of times, that’s all we did, eat and run. The vase that held our friendship broke then. Every other time we had met for lunch we drove together and spent the afternoon wrapped in conversation.  We never ran out of things to talk about. Never. Except now we did. She rushed off after each of the two lunches. Seemed like she couldn’t wait to get away.

One of those lunches was the last time I saw or spoke to my best friend.  She still lives a mere 5 minutes from me but I never see her. We don’t call each other for coffee or walks or shopping anymore. I, because I can’t be sure what her response would be and she – I can’t begin to know.  Most tellingly, she didn’t acknowledge my birthday or last Christmas either. So I know our friendship is over.

Now, here I am in transition from young mother and wife to middle-aged woman unclear about my identity and even my role in my own life. There’s no one now with whom to share my journey, to explore the possibilities and opportunities life still offers.  At least no one who shares my experiences and memories as my friend does. I’m floundering on my own trying to swim in rough waters with no life preserver. Certainly I have other friends, but none so close we can have coffee on five minutes notice, none whom I have known so intimately.

Honestly, I think about her almost every day and wonder what happened and if she misses me as much as I miss her.  Judging by comments she made when we last met, I think that she made a conscious decision to end the friendship – simply decided that because her life  had changed she simply had no liking or use for me anymore. I have written letters to her, left unsent. I am not prepared for the possible consequences of sending a letter. First, what if she doesn’t respond? Conversely, what if she does? I can’t take the risk and I think the message she’s sent just by her absence is fairly clear.

         Thirty years of shared confidences, memories, and closeness is difficult to lose, impossible to replace.