Thursday, February 6, 2014

Where are you?


Cue the Sarah McLachlan music.

It’s hard to lose a friend.  Half a friend is “end,” or maybe just “fri;” either way, meh.  When you grow up with someone, spend your days discussing dolls, then boys, then adulthood, you always assume they’ll be around forever to see everything happen. 

But things happen.  People happen.  Circumstances happen.

Sometimes it’s hard to see the people you love fall in love because it feels like they don’t need you anymore.  Your best isn’t good enough anymore, and although you’re happy for them (eventually), your role as the shoulder, the support, the one who laughs at their jokes, the one who tells them to buy this but don’t buy that, the one who will get up at 5:00am to go to the gym with them when you’d rather sleep, and on and on, isn’t necessary anymore.  You hope that although they have a new life that they’ll remember that you’re the one who was there to support them through everything they are trying to move past.  So how do you support someone who is your best friend when now it’s at a distance?  It’s rough. 

I feel let down because I’ve had a boyfriend, then a fiancé, then a husband, and I feel like I never “disappeared” no matter what my love life was doing.  I’m not perfect and I’m guessing I wasn’t the best, best friend there ever was, but I fought the good fight and I did what I thought it was to be there for someone.  I want to support and love and encourage,e but I want to be called, responded to, encouraged, uplifted. 

So now I’m a one-sided friendship.  I want to be a best friend.  I want to laugh and snort at things that only she understands.  I want to be told that I shouldn’t buy another polo shirt because I have ten in my closet and it’s “time to try something new.”  I love my husband and he is truly my best friend, but I need my best girlfriend to go look at that gaudy jewelry that I’ll never be able to afford, to sit over a latte for hours and vent, to secretly gush over horribly cheesy movies we pretend to hate.  I miss that.

I thought I’d have someone there for me at my side when I had my kids.  I thought she’d be there to hold my hand along with my husband when I gave birth.  I thought she’d love my kids almost as much as I do.  But they hardly even know her.  And when our worlds collide and we actually do see each other, I feel warm, friendly, overjoyed, talkative.  She feels awkward, shifty, with little eye contact.  I don’t understand.  Is it me?  Is it my life?  Is it my kids?  Is it my faith?  Our lives are different, but aren’t we the same on some level?  Aren’t we still the women who grew up, moved away, grew up again, and spend day after day talking about who knows what, crying over our random miseries, and eating a thousand California rolls?  Where are you?

I often think I can move on.  My life is happy, my husband is loving, my kids are joyful and kind and we’re so proud of them, and I do have a handful of really good friends.  But then I get to thinking and I know I still have a hole where something is missing.  My friend, my confidant, my gossip buddy, my arachnophobic pink-wine loving bestie who called me to kill bugs, to cry, to laugh, when proud, when ashamed, and was the only one to ever get me to wear makeup.  Well, I’m back in polo shirts and no makeup, so where are you?!

You’ll never read this.  My fear of confrontation hopes you won’t.  But things have to get worse before they get better.  Someone once told me it’s better to fight than to be indifferent, because when you’re fighting you still care.  I don’t think we ever had a fight that led to this distance, this silence, this strange avoidance.  It’s just like nothing ever happened but life pushed us apart.  I’ll be honest, it sucks.   

I just hope that one day if you need me as a friend again you’ll see that I never gave up.  I still called, I still texted, I still messaged you on Facebook; I never gave up asking to go do things, get coffee, go out to eat, go to the movies, anything.  And I won’t.  I may be beating a dead horse, but I’ll never give up trying to claw my way back to being your best friend again.  We’re not done having kids and I hope you can be around to see at least one of them come into this world and be like an auntie to them.  I’m going to keep trying, and I apologize if it’s obnoxious.  To me, it’s worth it. 


Turn the sappy music off, please.

2 comments:

  1. Im sure your experience is totally personal and unique, but I have a couple of friends that I really honestly feel the same about! I actually tight that having kids would bring us closer, but it had somehow made our distance all the more obvious. It really sucks, knowing and loving someone for most of your life and then for some reason, those relationships are just gone! I feel for you, and know that it's not just you and it isn't you! :-)

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  2. Thanks Kimmy! I do have to say, having kids definitely brought me closer to my cousins :)

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