Something I wrote about a year ago, that I felt like reposting. Just because.
I lost a beloved friend this summer.
He didn't die or anything. And we didn't have a fight or a "falling out." It just ... ended.
It's hard to explain, and I don't want to go into too much detail about what happened, about our friendship, about him personally, or anything like that, because that would be boring. All I'll say is, we've known each other a very long time; half of my life, more than half of his. The year we met, we both lost a parent; I lost my mom just before I met him, he lost his dad just after he met me. And we've been close ever since. I've always thought of him as a brother, as family. I think he did too. We've seen each other through a lot of things over the years. I love and admire him as much as anyone I know.
But now it's over.
I've never felt this way before. I've never experienced anything like this; a deep, profound and lasting sadness like this. I've had close family members pass away, I've had relationships break up, and never cried like this. I feel like I'm in mourning, grieving for someone who hasn't died -- is that even possible? How can a loss like this feel so much worse? And I've felt this way for months. Not a day goes by that I don't think about it. What's wrong with me? How does it not go away? How pathetically weak can I be? I'm writing about it because I just don't know what else I can do.
We had a little misunderstanding earlier this year, which neither of us handled very well, but it made me realize, finally, that he has no further use for me. And it's my fault. I'm the one who failed. If I were a better person, I would be worthy of his attention and consideration, but I'm not. Somewhere along the way I failed; I don't know when or how or why. I always hoped that he and I would be friends for life, that he would always have a place for me. I realize now that I haven't earned it.
The sad thing is, among many sad things, that on those rare occasions when we have seen each other in recent years, it's the same as it's always been. We have a good time, we talk, we laugh, we reminisce, we commiserate, we counsel each other, we share things we wouldn't share with anyone else. It's as if nothing has changed. And it always gives me hope; hope that we'll become a more regular part of each other's lives than we have been lately.
But then we part ways and the cycle begins. He says he'll get in touch again soon. I wait a while. He doesn't. I reach out. He doesn't respond. I wait a while. I try again. No response. I wait a while. I try again. Maybe he responds this time, says he'll call on a certain day or that we'll meet soon; he doesn't, and we don't. Or maybe he doesn't respond at all. Time passes. I try again. Maybe at some point he'll respond and say, "Let's meet during such-and-such week." I say OK. Such-and-such week approaches. I reach out. No response. Such-and-such week comes and goes. Nothing. I wait a while. I try again........
This is how it's been for a while now. It's like trying to get an audience with the Pope. I allow myself to hope that things might change, and they don't. It doesn't really make me angry; mostly it just makes me sad. But here's the thing, and here's how I know it's my fault: The whole thing is ridiculous. I simply don't have any right to expect otherwise, or to feel hurt by it. I have no standing with him. To have outreach go unacknowledged is the norm, is to be expected. For me to expect otherwise is, and has been, entirely unfair and unjustified; my hurt feelings stem from my own selfishness and arrogance. A busy family man has to carefully choose who and what he has time for, and I simply don't make the cut.
That's basically what our misunderstanding earlier this year was about. At one point about two months into the aforementioned cycle, having not heard a word or received any responses in that time, I sent him a text message saying only, "So much for..." the latest promise he'd broken. Turned out he didn't appreciate that, although I had no way of knowing it at the time, because he retaliated with two more months of silence.
He finally got back in touch after some hounding on my part. He then told me, basically, that his silence had been deliberate. His promise, which he didn't acknowledge having made, was in any event not something he should have been expected to keep, and I was wrong to upbraid him for having broken it because there was something going on in his life at the time, a family issue that consumed his attention and that he didn't want to tell me about. When I reminded him of the exact words he'd used, explicitly pledging to do a very specific thing, he replied that he didn't want to have to keep his word, or be careful what he says.
It's hard to explain, really. I couldn't understand why, if I had said something that pissed him off, he would retaliate with silence instead of addressing it with me; why, if he was upset because I got annoyed with him for not communicating, he would retaliate by ... not communicating. I reminded him that having to break a promise is fine, but doing so in silence without notice or acknowledgment is not -- and that that's what bothers me. Whatever he had going on at the time, it was not clear how he got from not wanting to tell me about that to not communicating with or acknowledging me at all. It didn't seem to occur to him that because of his silence, I couldn't possibly have known what was going on. And he accused me of saying something far more obnoxious than "So much for..." in that text message. Meaning, he was basically punishing me for something I really didn't say, by denying accountability for something he actually did say; for my careless words pointing out his careless words. There was a lot that I couldn't wrap my head around.
We patched things up, cleared the air, so to speak, as expected. But I came away from that conversation more distressed than I had been before. Here was one of my oldest, closest, dearest friends telling me, in so many words, never to count on him. Never to rely on him. Never to, really, pay attention to anything he says, or expect that he actually means it. And he was demanding a license to speak carelessly, to take no responsibility for what he says; demanding immunity for all broken promises past or future. He had broken his word to me and then punished me for pointing it out by cutting me, albeit temporarily, out of his life ... and this time, he did it on purpose. What's more, I had made a dreadful mistake; an unforced error that ruined everything.
In the end, the underlying theme was inescapable: He has no place for me in his life anymore, and wants me out of it. I've become a nuisance, a burden, a cipher; something he has to tolerate, put up with, indulge from time to time for my sake, not his own. No anger, no hostility, no resentment, no ill will, bad blood or hard feelings. He loves me but has no further use for me. And it's entirely my fault. Not just for having no standing with him but for having the gall and the arrogance to expect otherwise.
I hoped we would talk again after this, after I'd had a chance to process it, and I asked him to call again soon. He said he would, but he didn't. A few weeks later I sent him a birthday card. He thanked me via email and said he'd call that weekend, but he didn't. I waited. Finally I asked if we could meet sometime soon. He said OK, and we set the date, time and place.
I just wanted to see him one last time. Close the book, say goodbye, and part ways like gentlemen. I didn't tell him that, though. I didn't want to burden him with it. But I knew this would be the last time we'd ever see each other. I knew I had no choice but to leave him alone from now on, and that once I did that, he would never, ever reach out to me on his own. In a way I've known that for a long time but just couldn't let it go. Now I knew I had to let it, and him, and our friendship -- past, present and future -- go. My pathetically clinging to it, as I finally realized, was not fair to him, and too painful for me.
So, we got together in late June. As it turned out he invited a mutual friend, so he and I didn't really get to talk one-on-one, didn't get to have that final conversation. The three of us ate, drank, talked, and so on, like always, for a couple of hours. We had a great time. Then the evening came to an end and he had to go. Our friend stepped out for a moment, and finally, briefly, it was just us. He said, "We'll do this again," as he always does, but this time I couldn't let it give me hope. I just said, "Please don't do that." He didn't acknowledge, but I think he understood, that he can't promise me anything anymore. And he doesn't have to. We embraced and he told me he loved me. I don't doubt that he does. I held onto him for a long, last moment. I could only think of three things to say:
"Goodbye."
"I love you."
"Remember me."
And then he was gone.