Tuesday, October 20, 2020

Feeling Wistful

Many years ago, I had a friend who was important to me and I think I was to her.

Changes in her life made her drift away. I didn’t look for her. But one day she walked into my life again, and her presence was a blessing. She helped usher a different chapter in both our lives with grace and the kind of warmth possible in old friendships.

Then she vanished, only to reappear at an important junction, again. It was as if the great weaver was threading our strings and resuming embroidering at just the right time.

A few more years, and we lost touch. I thought of her, and trusted we’ll meet again, as the British song goes, “some sunny day.” 🙏

It was actually a foggy afternoon, when I got the urge to look her up. I did what people do who have no acquaintances in common: I googled. Yay! She had Facebook account, and yup, she had posted recently, including a photo of the two of us from way back. I commented on the photo with glee, and also sent a friend request. That’s the protocol of Facebook: you "friend" people who are already your personal friends, you accept friendship from people who will never be more than Facebook friends, and you ask for friendship from people who once were good friends.

I didn’t get a response. I figured that was that, or maybe not.

A few months ago, out of the blue, I got a keen urge to look her up again. I went straight to Facebook. The last post on her timeline was two years old. On one of her posts, another of her friends wrote that she will be missed forever now that she is gone.

The date of her earthly departure was a month before my old friend request. She was much too young to have made this transition. 😢

I’ll never know the last chapters of her life. But I felt wistful and also marveled at the intensity of the connection I experienced right then. To write the whole story of our intermittent connection and how much it meant would be writing a full-length novel, not a short blog post. To try to make sense of it, as one does when constructing a novel, would take more inventive powers and imagination than I have access to for now.

 But nothing stops my feeling that a story is looking for a proper tying of loose ends, the way editors ask us to do.


Evelyn said...

Dearest Mirka, I'm so sorry about your loss of your special friend. Some of your comments reminded me a bit of my mom. She kept up with hundreds of friends, and that was back before email and Facebook and inexpensive phone calls made keeping up easy. In a conversation with her about it she once said to me something along the lines of--it's like reading a good book; if I don't keep up with a friend, I won't know the end of the story and I'll always wonder about it.

Vijaya said...

Oh Mirka, I just knew where this lovely story was headed. I'm so sorry about the loss of your friend, but marveled at how you had the urge to look her up, how she came into your life multiple times. What a blessing. Requiescat in pace.

Janie Junebug said...

I'm sorry that she's gone, but at least she wasn't ignoring you. I've gotten in touch with some friends from high school. It's so much fun to talk to them. But we also have a long list from people in my high school class who have died--some from the virus.


Barbara Etlin said...

I'm so sorry, Mirka. This story makes me treasure and appreciate the friends I've had since childhood. Some have moved away; some have just drifted out of my daily life; some are still close.

Lots of hugs.

Kelly Steel said...

So sorry about this loss.