Note: CBC aired a longer version of this, which I entitled Burning Bridges, in Feb -04. The response was unprecedented -- seems many of us need to hear that it's okay to let a friendship go, on purpose. If you'd like a transcript of the C.B.C. piece, email me. K.G. Sunny Side Up March 3, 2004 �2003, Kathleen Gibson When a friendship withers Marlena and Derek* once lived close to us. We're in separate provinces now. For the last several years, other than occasional emails and Christmas cards, we haven't connected much. But a recent out-of-town trip would take us right by their home, so we made arrangements to visit. When we lived in the same community, we saw Marlena and Derek often. We had stuff in common. Small things and big. Parenting. A love of pets and good books. Our faith. Some people sharpen you when you're together. You leave them feeling more alive. As though an invisible pumice stone has buffed the corrosion off your psyche. You're better, wiser, bigger for the time you share. We had a friendship like that. Marlena loved to laugh. She had a teeny leftover accent from her place of origin. Every so often she'd trip over a word, or come out with a tangled comment so hilarious the rest of us howled like a coyote pack. She'd sit there, all innocent and not a hint of a smile. "Whaaat? Did I say something?" Derek had the biggest heart around. Being with him was like getting in a cage with Gentle Ben. He smothered you with love. When you left you carried some of that loving slobber with you. It took days to wear off. When it finally did, you wanted to return for more. We couldn't wait to see them. They met us gladly. The first evening, things were like they'd always been. But we noticed soon that Marlena's laugh didn't spring up like it used to, and Derek seemed awkward, not the Gentle Ben we knew. Everyone tried, our whole visit, but our conversations felt stilted and unnatural. We all knew it. After we left Marlena and Derek's home, I rode silently for miles. Pondering the meaning of friendship. Feeling heavily that this one was passing. On that same trip, barefoot, jeans hiked up to my knees, I stood in the middle of a shallow mountain stream. Idly throwing twigs in the water, and watching them wend their way forward. Sometimes two twigs linked; traveled in tandem until they bumped up against a rock or a snag, and were forced apart. Just like life, I realized. We were permitted to ply our crafts side by side for a time, Marlena and Derek and the Preacher and I. But eddies, islands, snags and sidestreams had separated us. We were all changed. I used to think those three sentence emails, and signature-only Christmas cards meant we were still close, that we could pick up where we'd left off. Now I know them to be mere echoes of what once was. The last bobs in the brook before rounding a bend beyond which we were never meant to travel together. Our shared faith in Christ softens this all. Knowing that when our streams trickle to an end we'll dock our crafts in a place where good-byes are never necessary and friendships last forever. *names changed You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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