In Memory of Friendship

In Memory of Friendship.

I hold it true, whate’er befall;

I feel it when I sorrow most;

‘Tis better to have loved and lost

Than to never have loved at all.

Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote the elegy In Memoriam A.H.H in 1850 to his late friend Arthur Henry Hallam. I have often wondered if Tennyson was right. Is it really better to have experienced a friendship or is it better to protect oneself against that inevitable loss?

I’m clumsy. I can be awkward, shy, reticent and self-involved. Have often put my foot wrong, stumbled and accidentally hurt others be it with words or deeds. I am more at home in the water. There I feel almost graceful. I’m of course, not the only one there. Have met many others who feel the same and made connections. I might have shared a look, a comment, a joke and recognized a kindred soul. Sometimes I’ve eased into these bonds, have tested the water, one cautious toe at a time. Other times I’ve jumped in, full of enthusiasm, plunged into the deep end and swam, laughing, racing together to the other side.

I don’t know which one is better. Even after all these years, I still doubt those famous words. Is it better to hold back parts of myself? Is it better to not share everything I feel? Is it better to protect myself from possible hurt? The unavoidable pain.

Or is it better to open myself to another, share my thoughts, beliefs, fears, hopes and excitements? Is it better to tear away my armor, make myself vulnerable? Is it better to hold out my hand and trust that you will take it? Is it better to offer my heart in the belief that the gift will be treasured? Will the pain of the inevitable loss be more or less? Is the pay-off, the memory of those rich feelings, the happiness of having shared laughter, more valuable than the loneliness that will follow?

The loss will come. It always does. For how can two separate entities stay connected? Isn’t it the law that one plus one will never add up to one? Hasn’t it been proven that two separate souls can never fully understand the other’s language? Isn’t it true that connections break when the glue fails? When what brought them together becomes old, worn and too heavy causing the two parts to drift away, each carried on their own current.

Sometimes one part will tear away suddenly as if pulled under by a riptide. Sometimes the two gradually, imperceptibly float further into their own stream till all that is left is the memory of what was.

I remember where and when we met. We had such fun, were so eager to linger a little longer. One more message. One more joke. One more cheeky comment. Do you?

Remember?

When we met you asked me why I was alone. You were so charming. You said I was such a great person, funny, open, and smart. You said you couldn’t imagine why I was on my own.

Remember?

When I told you that everybody, I had known had left me. I told you that sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, they had all turned away, distanced themselves, disappeared, stopped talking to me. I told you that I was okay on my own.

Remember?

When you shook your head and couldn’t believe what I had said. Surely, I was wrong, you said. Surely, no sane person would walk away from me. You flattered me, tried to convince me that I was worthwhile.

Remember?

When you told me you wanted to spend time with me, I let you. I more than let you. I welcomed you, looked forward to our time together. Was maybe too eager, too pathetically grateful for being even a small part of your life. You asked questions, even listened to my answers, we shared our thoughts, shared jokes, and made each other laugh.

Remember?

When you asked me if losing someone will ever become easier. If the hole that is left behind will ever close. If the pain will ever become tolerable, or maybe even disappear.

Remember?

Then you left. You cut me off. You just disappeared, gave no reason, did not say goodbye. I was scared, thought something bad had happened to you. But I couldn’t reach you. You wouldn’t let me.

I will tell you that losing someone doesn’t get easier. Those holes will always be there. They will always be the deep mines in your soul, the sinkhole on our memory. They will always be the whirlpool where your thoughts can get lost.

I will tell myself that this has happened before. So many times, before. Too many times. That I’m used to it. That I’m tough. That I’m okay on my own. That I know how to drift on the tide.

I’ve told myself so many times, I almost believe it.

I’ve learned what I must do. I just have to relearn how to be alone with my thoughts. I just have to remind myself that I’m not allowed to share this or that joke with you anymore. I will just have to be firm and only focus on the good memories and sidestep the empty place you’ve left behind. And then I just have to take a deep breath, or five, and dive deep, deep enough so the light that was you will not reach me anymore.

I just have to survive. Again.

Maybe this time I’ll know how to make the dam strong enough, tall enough, forbidding enough. Maybe this time I’ll build a better lock. Maybe this time I’ll make the moat deeper and pull up the draw bridge.

In the meantime, I will wonder again what I did wrong. What about me makes others think it is okay to walk away. In the meantime, I will wonder how I can make people see that I have feelings. That I hurt, just like everyone else. I am lucky that I can swim because no one can see that I've cried myself to sleep because I’ve lost yet another friend.

I fear that you will never see this. I fear that, once again, I have been too egregious in my selfishness. Too demanding of your goodwill. Not considerate, grateful, or compassionate enough. And even if you read this, you may not have the words, may not care enough to give me the answers I seek.

I have to remember to be content with that. And I will when I eventually surface again.