When you are in the process of making a friend you don’t think of the developing friendship ending.
But some friendships do. End that is.
Life moves on.
Or they move away.
Kimmy. My first friend- that I remember. We were very young throughout our friendship. And though I was just as young, I still think of her as little. Short. And happy. It goes to reason that if we were the same age then we would be the same age now. No matter. I will always remember her and have her with me as a young child. Her bouncy blonde hair. Her awesome house that sat catty corner to ours. I don’t remember any unpleasantness or unhappiness when thinking of her. I just remember childhood where the air was cleaner, the houses were huge to our littleness, brothers were a pain in the ass but we would have had to say ‘butt’ back then, and the saddest part of the day was darkness when we had to go in.
Bonnie. She lived down the street. Her dad scared me. He never ever did anything inappropriate. He was just …. not nice. Once I walked through the house following Bonnie. We were going from her bedroom to the backyard. He was at the table eating and right as we walked past he got up and slammed his plate of food in the trash. Later Bonnie told me it was because we breathed on his food as we passed the table where he sat eating. I felt sorry for her. I don’t think home life was fantastic. It was my first experience in a hoarded home. But I didn’t know the name for that back then. I just thought they had way to much stuff for the small house they had. She played the flute. She got pregnant when she was very young. The father of the baby wasn’t nice to her. I think that worried my parents. I know that worried my parents. She moved away not so long after that. When I think of her now I am convinced that she found her way, for her and her child. And that where she is now she is happy, successful in her life. Where ever she chose to go with her life. I just trusted her, even when she had no reason to trust in others.
Cara. She was older than me. I was a young mom with a young child. She and her husband were that upwardly mobile couple I had not ever known in the rural country spot I had been living in. She was professional and dressed the part. To that point in my life and for a long time after…professionally dressed people intimidated me. People who seemed to have it all together would make me sad. Seeing them made me feel like there was something wrong with me. Until I met Cara. She loved me. She didn’t care that I didn’t like dresses, or high heels. She liked me, for me. Cara and I talked for hours every day when we worked in the office. Me as a clerk. She as administration. We worked, talked, laughed. I moved this time. She didn’t want me to make the changes in my life I was going to make but she supported me. We kept in touch for awhile. When she moved to another state I knew that where ever she went she was going to model acceptance and respect.
Marta. We met every week over a large bag of potato chips and a large tub of chip dip. We spent hours talking. About her kids. My kids. Husbands. Fears of providing for families in a horrible economy. I don’t ever remember going out anywhere or getting together for any other reason. Just getting together in each other’s homes. Talking. Eating. Talking. Sharing our every day lives. Like when her mom passed and as she died she spoke and said “hello Jesus” and we marveled at that every time we discussed it. I can think of her now sitting in her kitchen, where ever she lives, and sharing her day with a new friend. Or an old friend.
Life moved on. And these friends or myself moved away.
There are others. Others who I may not see daily. Weekly. Or even yearly. But I know I’ll see them again because they are part of my life. No matter where we go we know where the other is. We know what’s important to one another. We seem to be where we need to be for one another when we are needed.
There were other friends who were with me for awhile. Along with the friends who are always here. Regardless of the amount of time spent in one another’s lives, for whatever purpose needed to be filled, they all left their mark.