The Friends We Never Knew We Were Losing

"The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart."— Elisabeth Foley

One day you are thirty. Your children are still young. There are birthday parties to attend every weekend it seems. School functions. Baseball games and dancing recitals. You meet new friends like the parents of your children’s friends.

If you happen to be from and still living in a small town, you still stay close with some of your high school friends. But if you went away to college, you've probably already drifted from those friendships, and your college friends seem to fade with time as well.

One day you are in your mid-forties, and everyone gets busier. Careers accelerate. Children become teenagers and then adults. The calendar that once revolved around birthday parties and soccer games fills with meetings, deadlines, college visits, and obligations.

And your friends? Their jobs take them elsewhere, their relationships fall apart, health issues overtake their lives, and if they are fortunate, two blessings often arrive. One, they become grandparents. Two, they are given the gift of watching their own parents grow old. Difficult as that journey can be, it is a privilege denied to many.

You yearn for grandchildren and pray that your relationship with your spouse or partner remains lifelong and strong. You hope you are lucky enough to have good health and that your parents are still striving.

But in the end, we are all losing someone. Especially our friends. The ones we grew up with. The ones we studied with, stayed out late with, and occasionally made poor decisions with. Life happens. People move on. And it can be sad.

We reminisce and talk about “the good old days” with our kids. One day you are in your fifties, where I am now, and our children are adults with partners and soon to be spouses and hopefully children of their own. Some have moved far from home while others have stayed close, but all of them are living lives of their own.

So you turn to that friend you still are in constant contact with. That friend you met during high school, college or work. The former teacher who made an impression on you. And it is hard. They now live scattered across the country — California, Idaho, Tennessee, North Carolina, Kansas, Illinois, Texas, and elsewhere. Technology makes it a little easier. You see social media posts from some, but everyone is busy living their own lives. You are grateful for a phone call, for hearing an old friend's voice especially the ones still in your home state of Louisiana.

You miss these friends, but the innocence of your childhood youth has long passed with it a more complicated life.

What do we do with friendships that exist somewhere between the present and the past? They are not lost exactly. But they are no longer what they once were.

Then I began writing essays about life—about grief, hope, faith, empathy, aging, losing a child, and surviving cancer. Something unexpected happened. Old friends began finding me again. A business associate from more than thirty years ago reached out. Phone calls became more frequent. Conversations resumed as if no time had passed at all. I also found myself talking more often with my brother, other family members, and my parents, while I am fortunate enough to still have them.

And you suddenly realize that this is all part of life. We are all evolving and, whether we want to admit it or not, still searching. Searching for whatever our souls still yearn for — good health, meaningful work, children who flourish, parents who remain with us just a little longer.

And we think of our friends too. The ones who, though not related by blood or marriage, were there when we needed them most.

Friends rarely disappear because love disappears. They disappear because life keeps asking all of us to move forward.

And perhaps the greatest gift of growing older is discovering that some friendships never really ended at all.

They were simply waiting for someone to make the first phone call.

And someone may be waiting to hear your voice as much as you're waiting to hear theirs.