The Greatest Gift, Part 1

I won't do this justice.  It may take me several efforts before I capture this correctly.  If (ok, WHEN) I decide to try this again, I'll just name it "The Greatest Gift, Rewrite".  Here goes ...

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I've always made friends easily.  I can make small talk to break the ice with the best of 'em, and from then on, it's mostly a matter of being interested and active listening.  If we don't hit it off, hey - no harm, no foul.

As for friends who really REALLY know me (and whom I'm not related to or married to), that's another matter.  There's Tim, for sure.  We hit it off immediately and have been great friends ever since.  But even that's not going back to my school-age days.  No, school-age friends would number five.  And school-age friends whom I kept in contact with well after graduation would number two.  And school-age friends whom I kept in contact with until I moved East would number one.

And when I write "school-age", the five would be from high school.  And the "post-graduation" two would be the five from high school minus the three who moved away, got married, went to college or whom I just lost touch with.  And those two?  I have known since Kindergarten.  So for REALLY close school-age friends, we're talking about - no exaggeration - a forty-year friendship.

Of those two, one started making really bad choices and decisions and I was finding myself feeling dread when she'd call.  She asked me to do favors for her that I was pretty uncomfortable with and, when things came to a head one day, instead of being sad at the loss of a very long friendship, I found myself feeling ... relief.  The person I had been friends with for so long had changed so dramatically and became someone I would have likely never wanted to know.

But the other one?  I introduced her to her husband, whom I was friends with in a different circle.  I met their firstborn child when she was less than 48 hours old ... and I held their second child at hour 8.  I had my doubts that our friendship wouldn't change with the addition of her having children - and yes, it DID change - but we could still be our goofy selves.  We could still have talks on the phone (something a lot of parents simply cannot achieve due to the constant interruption of a child in need).  She was still interesting and funny and had interests that didn't involve children.

So when it came time for me to move, I spent the days packing or shipping or finding bubble-wrap and crafting, in my head, a way to somehow say I was leaving.  And - I failed * every * single * time*.  It wasn't as though we talked every day or saw each other every week ... but the idea that I wouldn't have the ability to see her at the drop of a hat made me feel ill.  And when the time came?  I chickened out.  I bailed.  I slunk away and when I DID finally call to say "hey - new address!!", I hung up afterwards knowing I had deeply hurt my closest friend and would likely never hear from her again.

When Christmas arrived a few months later, I received a card from her parents ... but not from her.  I sent one, holding out hope that I had simply misread her reaction to my move - and my not telling her face-to-face about the move - but deep down, I knew what she likely was feeling.  After all, 35 plus of friendship had BETTER teach you how to read the other person.

And then life got complicated.  The search for employment took about 11 months longer than I'd expected, the Awesome Boyfriend became the Awesome Live-In Boyfriend, I became employed again but needed to learn a whole new sector (from technology to education), and - just for added drama - there was, of course, my Parkinson's diagnosis.

Each year, without fail, I would get a Christmas card from her parents with a note that would say something like "hope you're doing well", or "haven't heard from you" or "miss your updates" ... but what was I gonna say?  I'd send them a card, too, but .... well how would YOU write "love my job, gonna get married, have Parkinson's, happy new year!"?  So I simply would write my name and send it off, knowing they deserved better.  Knowing she deserved better.  And there I was - in the foreign situation of really not knowing how to break the ice.

Christmas 2012 came around and, out of the blue, I opened a photo card to see the smile I'd known since walking into Mrs. Denzer's Kindergarten classroom.  I stared at the card, studying the familiar ornaments on their tree (knowing she was alright with random decor placement but that such a thing would keep him up at night) and, still in a daze, flipped the card over to see a whole page of text!  Ages and hobbies of children, vacation news, job updates, boards and committees she was on ... not personalized to me but I drank it in, sat back, and ... cried. I still didn't have any way of writing "love my job, got married, have Parkinson's, happy new year!"  I made a mental note to reach out when I was able to write something informative, sensitive, comprehensive, and not pity-inducing.  This was gonna take some time.

It would take me six months to work up the courage, and two hours to write a Reader's Digest of my life without her in it.  With our birthdays being 12 days apart and with Summer Vacation looming, I purchased a card, folded my two-page letter (which I boldly included my email and phone number and a note we'd be visiting my parents for the next two weeks), sealed the card, and dropped it in the mail.  I went home and packed for our travels, not mentioning to the Awesome Husband what I'd done, so as to save myself from any embarrassment should she not call or write.