It wasn't intentional, I didn't plan things this way. But almost a year later, I can clearly see the way I isolated myself after you died. For a brief period, I reached out to others, intentionally trying to fill my time and my thoughts. But that quickly subsided, and I came to find safety in isolation. Spending time with anyone else only brought you to my mind, and everyone suffered in comparison because they weren't you. Of course they weren't you. No one could ever be you. Loved ones tell me to call up some friends and make plans. Oh I do occasionally. But most of the time my phone sits silent, and I busy myself with my career, my children, and all of my adult responsibilities.
I recognize it now, and yet I'm not sure I'm compelled to change it. It reminds me of a bad breakup, of which I've had one too many. The high of being in love and the low of a broken heart. It can paralyze you and scare you away from taking another chance and risking another disappointment and that unbearable hurt. So it is with friendship. You were my soulmate, as much as a friend can be a soulmate. With you, I was understood. I was loved. We laughed. We dove deep into our souls and allowed each other to see the beautiful and ugly parts of ourselves. If I never have a friendship like that again, I'll remain grateful for the 16 years I had with you.
I see pictures of best friends on social media and sometimes have to shut it down and just cry and mourn your absence. You were my go-to girl, my plus one, my confidante, my sounding board. You were there when so many others were fleeting and transient.
I know darn well you would want me to continue to invest in other friendships. It almost makes it worse knowing that I'm doing the opposite of what you would want for me. I'm peppering friends in here and there. You're just a really tough act to follow. So the curtain stays closed, the lights down. Sometimes healing and grief just take a long while.
