Friday, October 12, 2012

Long Not Lost

Friends come and go.  We all have friends in our lives that have lasted a season or two.  If you’re lucky, you’ll have a few friends from years ago that you’ve managed to hang onto despite your abrasive personality traits.

These are friends who knew you before you were someone’s wife or mom, before you were defined by your job or career, before life got a hold of you and smacked the tar out of you.  These friends knew you when you were just you, unadorned by labels.

It’s a friend who shows up in nearly every memory of your childhood, the one whose face you see when recalling sleepover birthday parties, or when you had your first boyfriend, or who comforted and laughed with you when you got in trouble in junior high for talking too much in class.  It’s the friend who spent as much time in the passenger seat the first year you had your driver’s license as you spent in the driver’s seat.  It’s the friend you made promises with to live down the street from one another and raise your kids together.

It’s the friend that you never did that with, but you totally would if the chance ever came up, even now.

It’s the friend that lives far away and who you may only see every one or two years, but when you get together, it’s like you were never apart, even though you know almost no details about each other’s daily life.

When you see each other, this friend’s hair and clothes look familiar, even though her appearance is new to you.  You realize that you are wearing a similar outfit and hairstyle.  The change that you notice most about this friend is her voice.  It’s a little deeper, a little rounder, more mature.

When you talk to this friend, you fall into the same patterns of conversation almost immediately.  You recall jokes that you haven’t uttered to a soul since you were twelve, and you both still find them hilarious.  You fill holes in each other’s memories when reminiscing about the past.

You spill secrets to this friend who you haven’t seen in years that you haven’t told anyone in your current circle of friends.  You complain about things to this friend that you didn’t even realize bothered you so much.  You admit dreams and disappointments you’ve barely been able to acknowledge to yourself.  This friend listens to your heart and doesn’t judge, just as before.  This friend draws out in you your real self, the self that you left behind when life started changing, the self you sometimes mourn when life gets hard.
 
This friend is forever, as you are for her.  Send her a card.  Email her.  Phone her.  Connect.  Do it today.  She won't mind.
 
 
 

6 comments:

  1. I get to read you only occasionally, Andrea, but I'm amazed each time I do. Today's post struck a chord with me, evidence that you're great at your craft because you evoke emotion in readers. Thanks for the piece. Keep up the good work.

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    1. Thank you Joe! I really appreciate the compliment.

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  2. This one made me tear up, loved it.

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    1. Thank you. Now, if only I could take my own advice (said the woman with three friends' unreturned emails in her inbox).

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