Friday, March 16, 2012

Can't Think of a Good Title

It's really weird, to lose a friend you've lost touch with.  When someone isn't a part of your daily, or even special occasion-life, there's not that reminder that they're gone.  And you feel like you shouldn't be sad, because how can you miss someone you no longer really talk to that much?  But when that person was once one of your best friends, such an integral part of so  many memories that you can't even think of high school without thinking of them, it's hard to not feel the loss.

I find myself visiting her facebook page, every few months, staring at her face and thinking, you're dead.  You're gone.  You're dead.  Because you know, when you don't have that daily reminder, or change in routines, it's kind of hard to believe. 

I talk to her more now than I did when she was still alive.  Which is not even all that often, for the record.  I don't want to make it sound like I have daily conversations with her or anything.  Usually when I'm trying to figure something out, or about to do something stupid, or when I'm really, really wishing for something, I talk to her about it.  And sometimes I try to imagine her answer.  Usually when I know the answer and I don't really want to hear it.  I like to picture her being exasperated, because I think it's funny.

It makes me sad that she never met my girls.  I talk to her about them a lot.  She loved kids, and she was so good with them. 

She was difficult and imperfect and I don't mean to make it sound like it was only a matter of time before we reconnected and were thick as thieves again, because realistically, that was never going to happen. 

When her family had a memorial service a month or so after she died, there were more than a few people there from high school.  One of them was a girl she'd been close friends with throughout grade school, someone she'd grown apart from in high school.  This girl was one of Those Girls.  I'm pretty sure she never had an awkward phase, with long shiny hair and perfectly straight white teeth and clear olive skin, the queen of the dance team...one of Those Girls.  And the fact that they grew apart was pretty one-sided.  And I remember being so, so happy to see her there, and thinking that of all the people there, my friend would have been the happiest to know that she was there. 

It's been two years, and I haven't stopped thinking about her, and I never will, but I'm pretty sure I'm never going to figure out how I feel about it all.

4 comments:

Rae said...

I think I know how I feel about all of it. I'm angry and sad and disappointed. At myself, at a lot of other people, and also at her sometimes. But it is so upsetting that I choose not to think about it.

Crabby Apple Seed: said...

You know, I feel like that sometimes too. But then I wonder what I would do differently...and I know that if I had made more of an effort to be in touch, it would have resulted in even more frustration, and I think that instead of all the questions I have, I would have a lot of answers I didn't want. And so mostly, I think it's better that things went the way they did. Barring, like, any magical powers that would give me the knowledge I really want, anyway.

But angry and sad, I can get behind. For sure.

Rae said...

I really wish I had reached out more. I did at least twice at times that turned out, well, poorly. But I really do wish that after we "found" her again, I had done a more thorough reach out. It would have been exhausting. I would have questioned why I was doing it and I probably would have had the same frustration I had before. But I would have rather done it.

I'm not saying that means you should feel that way. I really have settled about how I feel I left things with her. And unfortunately, I feel shitty about it.

But we each had our own relationship with her that ended or mended at different point.

Crabby Apple Seed: said...

well, I will definitely say that I've often thought of you saying that you asked yourself "what would Janie do?" and I have often wished I were a big enough person to do what I know Janie would have done. For sure.

I can see how you feel the way you do. I wish you didn't, because I think (actually, I know) you tried harder than anyone else. And maybe I have the advantage of knowing you tried and knowing how it worked out. But I go back and forth nearly every time I think of her, trying to decide how I feel about it. In so many ways, it's such a relief, because when she died, I was able to really focus on all the really great things about her, and in spite of everything, there were so many great things.