Yesterday I had my heart broken. And it wasn't by a man, either, because I've been happily married for sixteen and half years. Plus, it would've more understandable because all romances go badly until you find the right one, right? Rather, this heartbreak is excrutiatingly painful because she was dear to my heart and my trust was implicit. The person who broke my heart was my friend.
Or I thought she was.
Today I mourn the death of a cherished friendship. It hurts. I've not had my heart broken in quite some time and had forgotten how sad it is, how unpleasant, how it affects you to the core. Eating and sleeping are not as effortless as they once were for my mind is reeling and trying to accept the reality she wasn't the person I thought she was.
Who
was she all these years, anyway? I
ask myself how I could have been so blind -- so naive -- for nine
years. Yes, that's right, nine. Twelve months shy of ten. Almost an entire
decade, a quarter of my life. That's a long
time to have been fooled, no? But why would
I have been at all doubtful or suspicious? She was my friend.
Her betrayal unfolded last night, and I wanted nothing more than for it to not be true. But there it was, plain as day and there was my denying it. It's funny how the older we get and the tougher life gets, the more denial and compromise we learn to cope with, right? Wouldn't it be nice if we could pretend certain things never happened, that our family and friends were perfect, for the sake of keeping the peace and enjoying the status quo that we all work so hard to achieve and enjoy?
Her betrayal unfolded last night, and I wanted nothing more than for it to not be true. But there it was, plain as day and there was my denying it. It's funny how the older we get and the tougher life gets, the more denial and compromise we learn to cope with, right? Wouldn't it be nice if we could pretend certain things never happened, that our family and friends were perfect, for the sake of keeping the peace and enjoying the status quo that we all work so hard to achieve and enjoy?
But the facts were laid out before me, the
cold, hard truth. I'd be a fool to allow myself to continue my friendship with
her, and "Momma didn't raise no fool." I admit, however, that despite her grave lack
of character, for a fleeting moment I entertained the idea of overlooking her duplicity. That's how much I loved her as a friend.
Like many of you, I don't let many people into my circle of confidence. And when I do, I like to think that my judgment of character is impeccable, or at the very least, I'm able to weed out the lemons so as to spare everyone from wasting time and energy on cultivating a friendship that ultimately goes nowhere.
Like many of you, I don't let many people into my circle of confidence. And when I do, I like to think that my judgment of character is impeccable, or at the very least, I'm able to weed out the lemons so as to spare everyone from wasting time and energy on cultivating a friendship that ultimately goes nowhere.
Her deception exepted, I
thought her the perfect friend. Like me, her children were her world. She
was thoughtful, unpretentious, a caring daughter, a devoted wife and an hilarious friend. Our conversations were uplifting and often
ended up with tears streaming during our knee-slapping fits of laughter. In my daily grind of drilling teeth, driving
my kids around, making dinner, helping with
homework, and keeping a tidy and charming house, my life was enhanced by her friendship. I felt lucky. I felt loved.
When we first met our eldest children were
only toddlers at the time and I think my nine-year-old twins were still infants,
her youngest a just glimmer in her husband's eye. A lot has happened since
then, endless hours of commiserating when the going got tough and celebrating
when things didn't seem so bad, even for a little while.
I think that's the part I'll miss the
most: the talking, the comfort from having
someone understand me without having to fill in the details because she lived
through them, too.
My eldest daughter, Charista, who is
twelve, saw the sadness in my face when I picked her up at the bus stop
yesterday and was very concerned about my despondency. I filled her in on what had happened and she
gave me a hug, telling me not to worry, not to cry. How lucky I was that she was there at that moment, so wise and caring. I cherished for a few seconds her embrace and kiss on my cheek, a role reversal of a daughter comforting her mother. She reassured me it would be hard but I
should endeavor not feel so badly because what my friend did was wrong.
Charista was absolutely right. Sure it
smarts right now and I'm not even sure how long it'll take for me to lick my wounds
and for a scab to form. I do know that eventually it will. It always does and I am way
too busy to languish in self-pity over a friend who apparently didn't value our
friendship as much as I. So life
goes on. Tomorrow is a new day. Out with the old, in with the new. Onward and
upward.
But we all know these are just words and
words are cheap. She broke my heart. Today I've laid our
friendship to rest but saved the best parts to be visited from time to time because the good times will always be just that-- good times. I
choose to believe those memories were made by two friends who enjoyed
and respected each other. Those memories will not be soon forgotten.
In the days ahead when I think back on our
former friendship, unfortunately my smiles will invariably be followed by bitterness.
But I promised myself that --- if you can please bear with me to hear one more
cliche --- it is better to have loved
and lost than not to have loved at all.
