As I sat in church one Sunday morning, my pastor told a story that perfectly answered the dilemma that had been bugging me.
My good friend had grown distant. Her life had changed drastically and while I was there for her through these tribulations, she slowly melted away, physically moved away, quit social media, and ceased communication. She had been holding onto me and our friendship so tightly as she struggled through her heartache that her detachment from me threw me for a loop. I was there for her for two whole years as she began navigating her new life. And then, before I knew it, nine months had passed since our last exchange. No reason. No fight. No falling out. No misunderstanding. The last text was from me.
This was a friend who had been a neighbor. We helped with each other’s kids when in a bind. We bought each other gifts. We celebrated birthdays. We surprised each other with Starbucks on difficult days. She brought me to the hospital when I was gravely ill and my husband was out of town; she packed a hospital bag and stayed there until my husband could get back. We sent hundreds and hundreds of texts to each other over the years. We knew each other’s parents. We even vacationed together. She was one of my closest friends.
That’s why silence after five and a half years of friendship made no sense.
After hearing some gossip of how she might be doing, I became concerned. For several weeks, I questioned whether I should reach back out. I felt she had silently given me an answer as she slowly stepped further and further away, especially after she moved. I also tried to be understanding that part of her healing process may include a completely fresh start, and I didn’t want to interfere with that choice. I knew if I reached out, I needed to be all in. I didn’t want to send her a “thinking of you” note just to sound like I cared, but then be unavailable if she really needed me. I didn’t want to just sound concerned if I was going to try and reconnect.
And then I went to my church that one day. The pastor told this story:
A man was walking down a street and fell into a hole. The walls were steep and he couldn’t climb out. The man cried out for help.
Soon enough a doctor walked by and heard the man’s cries. The man in the hole said, “Will you please help me out of here?” The doctor wrote a prescription, tossed it down the hole, and walked away.
Shortly thereafter, a priest walked by and heard the man. Looking up into the sunlight, the man begged, “Father, can you help me?” The priest wrote a prayer, threw it in the hole, and walked away.
Finally, a friend came along. “Can you please help me?” the man called. The friend made a brave, bold move: he jumped into the hole! The man who had been trapped was horrified. “Why did you do that?! Now we’re both stuck in here!” The friend said, ‘Yes, but I know the way out because I’ve been down here before.”
The “light bulb” above my head immediately turned on and shined so brightly once the pastor told this anecdote. Of course! This was my answer! I don’t want to be the person who sends a dismissive note. I want to be the person who jumps in and helps her out. I had heard that her communication devices were limited, so I did my research and found out the best way to reach her and did just that. No response. I followed up with a relative of hers. I got turned down. Two months later, I wished her a happy birthday. No response. Three different messages sent in three different ways.
Regardless of the outcome, that sermon left a lasting impression. I thought I had found the answer, but I realized she was in control of the answer and that I need to be at peace with it. Luckily, I have more than enough friends in my life that fulfill me and distract me from the loss of this one. My life is full in so many ways that I can move beyond the loss and remember the good years we had. I can now drive by her old house and not picture her in it every time. I feel she has officially removed herself from my life as the last time I heard from her was 16 months ago. I have let go.
But if, my dear friend, you are reading this, my phone number is the same, my email is the same, my address is the same. I’m still here. And I’ll still answer. When you’re ready.
