The Mourning Comes Again. And Again.

Set aside some time each day to mourn this new loss, my mother texted me. I was processing a change in friendship, navigating a new reality where we weren't as connected as we had been before, and there were some consequences that came with it which I was having a hard time dealing with. As with any friendship that goes through stages, this one was going through the stretching-and-moving-apart phase. It remained to be seen whether, like a new rubber band, it would snap back into place, just as before, or like a rubber band that had sat in a filing cabinet for two decades, it would break with brittleness of age.

Giving space and distance meant that I no longer got to spend time with my friend or with their family, who had become very dear to my heart. It hurt. I knew I needed to respect their wishes and not push myself into their lives, but it still hurt. The past year seemed to have disintegrated into nothing. There had been late night meals with lots of laughs. Spontaneous trips to town navigating the insane afternoon traffic. Chats about life and love and the all-consuming winter chill or summer heat. Now it was gone.

I've always been the pusher; never the pushee. I've always been the one who, knowing a time of change was approaching, stoically built my wall, brick by gray brick, until it was high enough to block out the calls of dear ones who were reaching out to stay connected. It hurt too much to say goodbye.

Sometimes they just gently drifted away. They came and went because life called them and I was never enough reason for them to stay. I still thought about them, though, and every now and then would try to reach out and reconnect.

Even in today's age, with technology that allows us to call or text someone instantly for very little cost or free, we still struggle to stay genuinely connected. Texts are random exchanges of memes we found on BoredPanda; a phone call is rare. Facebook is now a bulletin board of everyone's political opinions, gym habits, and meals for the day. Instagram, with its endless strings of disjointed phrases, has replaced proper conversation. Now, if you want to know what happened in someone's life, they refer you to their insta. Even Instagram is disjointed in its name.

So when I try to reconnect, it lasts for a week or two and then they return to their world and I to mine. I miss them but I can't change the reality that they have their own life and I am no longer a part of it because I'm not physically there.

Now I am the one who's being asked to leave. It's not a simple thing--dissolving a friendship. You can't pack a suitcase, hug them goodbye, and drive away. There are no tangible mementos, physical touch is now pushed away, and often you continue to see them on a regular basis. The leaving must take place in your mind, even as you wish not to do so.

Tomorrow perhaps I'll mourn the loss of the little ones who made me smile and brought such joy to my heart, never asking for anything in return other than to know they were loved. The ones who laughed at me as they stayed just out of reach, asserting their independence, but then rushed back when they needed help getting a favourite object from a high place. The ones who reached out for me unhesitatingly when the room got a little too loud and many people were crowding around, the lost look on their face disappearing as they held on to me tightly knowing they were safe.

But for tonight, the mourning will be one that recognizes I'm on a different side now. A side where I do not regulate the pain; it comes without my acquiescence. In this learning, I hope I can see with a tender heart so the next time change approaches, I will gratefully hold each one who is dearest to me and instead of pushing, bring them close.