How a 47-Year Friendship Came to an Abrupt End

Do you want to connect with other women and make new friends? Do you want to have some fun? Then join our private Facebook group, The Ethel Circle, today. You'll love it!


My first date with my first husband was memorable for a couple of reasons. I am blurry on the details of how it began, but I recall vividly how it ended. About mid-way through the evening, he awkwardly asked if we could drop in on a birthday party for a mutual acquaintance. I reluctantly agreed but knew I would be miserable.

Crashing a party was not something I felt comfortable doing. I barely knew the birthday girl. I had never met the host. But she oozed warmth and hospitality, and so I felt less intimidated once introduced. I liked her at once. The host drew you in like a cozy chair by the fireplace, wrapping you in comfy arms.

She lit up a room, and everyone vied to be her friend. I envied her laugh. Mine was raucous and hers was soft and tinkly. It’s ironic that a party I did not want to attend presented me with a gift I never expected — a new friend.

It’s not a stretch to say that my life changed because of that party. Both unions slowly disintegrated — the friendship and the marriage. Since she was an asset my ex brought into our relationship, he naturally “won” her friendship in the divorce settlement. I remarried, and sadly, she became part of my former life.

Years passed, with no real contact other than Facebook. One day, a message arrived. She was in town. Could we have lunch? I was ecstatic.

Hours passed as we enjoyed a reunion, swapping stories and sorrows. Our friendship rekindled because she had made the effort, and I became fiercely determined to ensure that the relationship was sustained. I did not mind going the extra mile — even if that meant driving 400 miles to her home twice a year. We would spend hours sitting on her sunny porch, solving the world’s problems.

Cracks appeared in our friendship when our political and religious worlds clashed. Our shared faith and values eventually no longer aligned. I had changed, and in her opinion, not for the better. I claimed freedom of speech; she said I was stirring the pot — that I should tone down the rhetoric and stop being a disruptor.

I suggested we “agree to disagree,” but a distinct shift was taking place. The steady stream of texts, phone calls, video chats and visits slowed down. The relationship eventually became little more than an occasional “like” on social media of a posted grandchild photo.

Distance and dislike can mean death to friendships. Ours is not all dead. Miracle Max’s description from the movie, The Princess Bride, describes our situation perfectly — "There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. With all dead, well, with all dead there's usually only one thing you can do.”

And for me, that one thing to do is to be true to who I am and move on.

The revived intimacy was gone, with only rejection left in its wake. There were no confrontations, no discussions as to why our warm connection had cooled, but in my gut, I knew. She could not accept that I had changed, and apparently, in her opinion, not for the better.

I was devastated. I felt bewilderment, anger and, most damaging, self-doubt. Was I too vocal, too radical, too abrasive? Had I just imagined we had been close friends for 47 years? Had the deep connection only existed for me?

In their book, The Let Them Theory, authors Mel and Sawyer Robbins write, “all human beings have a hard-wired need for control. No matter how hard you try, you will never be able to control another person. The only person you are in control of is you." Intellectually, I know I cannot make her be the kind of friend I want. Emotionally, it is difficult to accept that she does not want to be the friend I need.

One morning last September, my cellphone rang. She was in town to see her sister and asked if they could drop by. It had been five years since I last traveled to her house and a decade since she’d taken the highway to mine. A pleasant surprise, but her sister’s presence meant no opportunity for a personal conversation.

She seemed nervous and overly chatty, and I got the impression that her unplanned visit was a literal guilt trip. After she left, I realized she was right. I had changed.

I am no longer the person who was dragged to that party all those years ago. I no longer want to be like someone else. I have moved on. I am now the cozy chair by the fireplace. A chair that is irresistible and irreplaceable. I like the different me, and there’s nothing I would change.

 
Have any of you ever lost a friend after many years of friendship? Let us know in the comments below.