In my life I have been blessed with many female friends, women with whom I am close and have been close for a number of years. I have two friends I have maintained contact with since I was 15… that’s 38 years of friendship, albeit with a few years’ worth of gaps here and there… and this spring I have the pleasure of spending “girls weekends” with each of them, separately and away from our families, just enjoying the luxury of each others’ company.
The comfort of having friends who know you and who have known you for so many years is incomparable. I love them so very much.
Other women friends I have known since I was 24 or 31 or 36. A few I may have only known for 7 or 8 years, but I imagine knowing them for many more. They are all smart women, women with whom I have worked or taught or have shared the journey of child-rearing. We may not always see eye to eye, but I value their perspectives and experience and willingness to share their lives with me. Sometimes I am surprised they hang out with me, being the flawed and dogmatic person I am. But their compassion and patience sustains me, makes me feel loved and loveable, and I love them so very much, too.
In fact, I cherish all these women, my dear friends, most of whom I enjoy individually rather than in any collective or group sense. Maybe that’s odd, or maybe it’s common – I’m not sure.
There are a few women with whom I have lost touch and wish were still in my life. My friend Meg, who moved to Portland 21 years ago and with whom I’ve only talked twice since. The Christmas card I sent 2 years ago was returned, and I’m not sure where or how she is now. My friend Andrea, who helped me make it through college in the early 90s and, last I heard, had her own family in Seattle somewhere. I quit Facebook several years ago and lost all contact. I think of you both often, Meg and Andrea; I wish you well and I wish you were still in my life.
There are some I knew long ago, women I long to find so I may apologize and reconnect. These were childhood friends, girls I knew since we were 11 or even before… girls who stood by me in my most awkward and difficult periods of life. Stacy, who was the daughter of a family friend, who was my pen pal from the time I could write letters. We lost touch when I was 19 or so, having so little in common in our teen years when having stuff in common seemed important. I would love to know how you are now and thank you for those years of early friendship. I could probably find you but feel guilty knowing I live 15 miles away from where you grew up and haven’t tried to reach out in the last 30 years. I am sorry I haven’t tried.
And Kirsten, who stood by me when I was so bullied in 6th grade, was my friend anyway and remained my friend through junior high. Kirsten who, when we were 16, hitchhiked from Colorado to California, having run away from her family to mine, not knowing my family was already 5 people in a 3-room Airstream trailer. I’m sorry I didn’t want you there. I’m sorry I didn’t understand. I envied your middle class intact family with relative material wealth. I have tried to find you several times, written you letters without a place to send them beyond my heart. I pray you are well and thriving somewhere. I will keep trying.
After a year of stay-at-home orders, spending time with my two oldest intact friends has kindled some nostalgia and much appreciation. Amplified by the learning of a pandemic, which taught me the value of human contact, particularly with those I love – I am beyond grateful for my dear girlfriends.
