I met her in freshman year of college. She lived four doors down from me and quickly became one of my best friends. I’m usually a serious person, but with her, I learned to act silly. She helped speed up my inevitable coffee addiction. She was my roommate, my cheerleader, my confidant and my friend for life … or so I thought.
Two years later she transferred to a different school. A year after that she called me and told me she was engaged. “To who?” I thought, vaguely remembering she mentioned someone from a neighboring university. I went to her wedding, but that was like the last goodbye. A few years after that, I don’t even know what state she lives in or what her last name is. It breaks my heart.
I’ve had friends come and go from my life. I think it’s fine to grow apart and go separate ways. When I went to college, my high school friends no longer knew the day-to-day happenings in my life. Some friends even faded from my life (only to resurface years later on Facebook). Same happened after college and after moves and job changes. It happens. It’s OK. I’ll always treasure those friends and invite them back into my life if our paths cross again. I also adore the handful of friends that I’ve carried through various periods of my life and those who I don’t talk to all the time, but I know when we see each other, it’s like nothing has changed.
But this particular friendship ending still hurts me. I suspect that my friend retreated when she got divorced. Mutual friends have told me that she’s disappeared from their lives, too, which means it’s about her, not about me. But I still wonder about her and hope she’s OK. And I think about her every time I hear a Bon Jovi song and remember our goofball lip-synching fondly. Thanks, L, for teaching me not to take myself too seriously.