When a Friendship Dies, Then Reblooms

I had a falling out with a friend the day this photo was taken. I could have cropped out the cigarette butts and over exposed legs but that’s not real life.

This was a moment of real life.

We said some terrible things to each other via email, at work. We sat face to face with our computer monitors shielding us from one another.

Our words were so powerful that within days the universe sliced through us like a knife, cutting us out of each others lives by unexpectedly transferring her to another area of the company.

I marveled at the sharp finality of it all.

Somewhat relieved and somewhat disturbed — she was gone within days.

Life moved forward without each other, as if together, we never existed.

When I found out she was expecting, I looked for her every day. After trying to conceive for a long time, she would now have the one thing in life she always wanted.

I found her leaning against a marble wall in the lobby, hand on her belly. Just before lockdown. The universe played its hand again.

I took a deep breath and let the words go. I wanted her to know how sincerely happy I was for her, that she looked radiant and was glowing. I predicted she was having a girl.

Her watery eyes shot daggers at me.

Through a group text, I received a photo of her beautiful newborn daughter. I texted back that I knew she would be an amazing mother.

She texted last November to see how I was doing. Had I ever gotten that project off the ground I always talked about?

In June, I texted her a belated Mother’s Day note. We texted a bit about the return to office expectations. She asked if perhaps we should set up some time to speak. We’re planning on getting together soon.

We’ve all lost friends for all sorts of reasons. We may outgrow each other, no longer have anything in common or a busy life relegates someone to the bottom of the list, but the hardest and most hurtful losses are those that happen when we use our words as weapons.

This week, I found the quote below by Lori Deschene. I hand-wrote it on an index card and taped it to my refrigerator. As I reach for the milk for my coffee every morning, I want to be reminded of things that could be forever lost.

“Practice the pause. Pause before judging. Pause before assuming. Pause before accusing. Pause whenever you’re about to react harshly and you’ll avoid saying things you’ll later regret.”

I learned that the peace is in the pause. I won’t ever forget that again.