I’m going through a period of grief—grief over a friendship. Just like grief over a romantic relationship, the grieving process was long. I think I’m doing better now… but still…
There were four of us. It’s a cliché to say we were inseparable, but that’s exactly what we were. Always together, always there for one another, and above all, up for anything and everything, anytime.
I felt like we were indestructible. We’d done and experienced so much together that nothing seemed capable of separating us. Men, kids, family, careers, travel, and life’s other ups and downs… We juggled it all like pros.
We’ve talked, laughed, cried, raged, and put the world to rights so many times over a good meal—whether homemade or not—as well as countless bottles of wine. I was so happy, feeling as though I held a treasure in my hands. Solid and precious…
However, I don’t know what caused it… but something broke. And we don’t see each other anymore—or hardly ever. We now have to plan a dinner three years in advance, even if we used to plan it the day before or on the same day.
Of course, when we do see each other, it’s as if we’d never been apart. The conversation flows effortlessly, and we laugh, we put the world to rights… But I sense a certain reserve. There are more silences now, filled with unspoken words that no one dares to break.
We still have wonderful moments, but they’re less spontaneous. There are still four of us, but something has crept in between us—insidious and elusive. There are four of us, but something has changed.
Some might ask me, “Yeah, but is it a big deal?” No, nobody’s died, and I’m truly convinced that we’re happy.
Then they’d ask, “Yes, but then, what is it?”
Sad, just sad…