Except when it isn't
I hadn't seen her since the mid-'80s. After a decade-long friendship that started in high school, we had the strangest falling out. A letter arrived from her, a harsh scolding. My hands were shaking as I read about my horrible error in judgment. Once again, I'd been too honest. A lifelong curse. Born in an Oldsmobile without a filter. At first, I hadn't been honest enough with her. "Oh, he's great, he seems great," I said, or some white lie, not wanting to hurt her feelings. She was dating this guy, they were a new, seemingly mismatched couple. Then when she had second thoughts about him, I fessed up, "Well, to be honest, you didn't seem that comfortable with him." I was 25. I was just being me, as opposed to somebody with the afore-mentioned filter. I wrote back, apologizing. "I'm sorry" comes easily for me. If I've messed up, never an intentional move, I take full responsibility. The thought of hurting anyone kills me. But in this case, my heartfelt mea culpa failed and a friendship I treasured vanished, unexpectedly. She went on to marry the man in question. I hope they were happy. After my mother died, she ran into my close friend of a zillion years and said she always felt terrible about the way things had ended. She asked if I'd be open to a phone call or an email. "Tell her of course," I said. "Absolutely." But no phone call or email came. Today I found out she passed away a few days ago at the age of 60. I hadn't thought about her in forever, but now the memories flood back. All the laughter. All the secret sharing. The endless silliness. The fun we had. May she rest in peace. May her memory be a blessing. Here's hoping she had a wonderful life.
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