hello, goodbye

When I was in Arizona last week, I didn’t make much of an effort to see childhood friends. At this stage of life, ten years is practically an eternity. Most people I knew then have moved on, literally and/or figuratively.

I did manage to catch up with one person, though: a girl I went to high school with. We had biology and choir together. But I was only at UHS for one semester, so I didn’t get to know her very well, certainly not as well as I would’ve liked. We sent letters and the odd postcard for awhile, but didn’t keep in close touch— as so often is the case, we were both very busy.

It was great to see her. We were able, more or less, to pick up where we left off, aside from one or two awkward moments:

M: “Do you remember when everybody from creative writing club dressed up and went to the midnight showing of The Fellowship of the Ring?”
Me: “No, I’d moved to Colorado by the time came out.”
M: “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you weren’t there.”

Anyway, we had coffee and then walked around Borders to see if we could spot any great going-out-of-business deals. (Incidentally, I felt like a traitor going in there, seeing as how it’s Amazon Marketplace shopping habits like mine that are largely responsible for Border’s demise.) Before we parted, she insisted on buying a book for me to read on the plane home. The book is The Shadow of Wind, a lush, sprawling Gothic tale by Spanish author Carlos Ruis Zafón. My friend chose that book for me because she just knew I’d love it; and she was right.

It’s amazing to me: someone I hadn’t seen in a decade still knew exactly the kind of book I’d like to read. That kind of friend is precious, indeed.

 

 

I realize I’m really too young to talk about ‘feeling old’, but sometimes I feel old anyway, and the reason why is because I’m so tired of losing friends. Not losing, really—saying goodbye. Tired of saying goodbye, and tired of missing people who are anywhere and everywhere but where I happen to be. With all the moving around I’ve done, I think I can say that I’ve gotten used to it, but it never gets any easier. I’m tired of it because it makes me tired: water wearing down a stone.

Madeline L’Engle said it well, I think, in A Ring of Endless Light: “To leave a friend is like a death and calls for grieving.” It’s as much a part of the human experience as death or any kind of loss. It does no good to dwell too long on ‘what ifs’ and ‘might-have-beens’. But I think it’s also wrong to ignore the passing of something as significant as a friendship. Trying to act like it doesn’t matter when it does, does a disservice to the memory.

There’s more I could say, but I should stop before I get all sappy. Indulge me just one more quote:

“What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.”

(T.S. Eliot)

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