Ten years ago, I crossed paths with a girl named Sarah. Initially, I had my doubts about her. I knew her through her roommate, and she was certainly unique. At just 18, she had left her home behind to move across the country to be with a boyfriend she had never met face-to-face but had known online for years. Ironically, I only met him twice over the course of seven years.
Sarah was a passionate vegan and an outspoken advocate for feminism and human sexuality. Her dry wit could be sharp, but her caring nature overshadowed it. Despite my initial reservations, we quickly became close friends. I even helped her land a job at my workplace in eldercare. She made a significant impact there when she courageously exposed the sexual abuses faced by undocumented women under the care of those they were supposed to help. She always prioritized the well-being of others.
I held her in high regard—truthfully, I loved her like a sister. She played a vital role in my life; she stood by me at my wedding, assisted with my furniture moves, and even modeled for my artwork. She was truly a remarkable friend.
Yet, I can’t help but think I wasn’t the best friend in return. I was going through so much during those years and leaned heavily on her. Perhaps I failed to recognize that she needed more from me. Her generous spirit made it all too easy for me to ask for help.
Sarah supported me through significant life events: when my boyfriend and I moved in together, during his chemotherapy treatments, while planning my wedding, and even during another move when I was six months pregnant with twins.
Then one day, I called her to congratulate her on her recent engagement. To my surprise, she was furious with me. She had a list of grievances that she was ready to share. Strangely enough, most of these complaints were unfounded. She claimed I had spoken ill of her fiancé and even accused me of stealing a DVD, which I promptly purchased and sent back to her. She also expressed her disdain for a portrait I had painted of her.
As I sat there, listening to her grievances, I felt completely helpless. I apologized profusely and asked what I could do to make things right. She told me the only thing I could do was to never contact her again. I reluctantly agreed, and with a cheerful goodbye, she hung up.
It took me months to fulfill her request—to unfriend her on social media and remove her from my chat list. It was utterly painful; every moment was a reminder of our lost friendship. She had been my confidante and supporter, and now, at a time when she seemed so happy, she wanted me out of her life.
For the most part, I’ve honored her wishes. I haven’t reached out since that day. However, when her new husband sent me a friend request on Facebook, I accepted it. Although it’s been four years, I can’t resist checking in on her from time to time.
In today’s digital age, it’s remarkably easy to find people. With mutual friends and a quick search, anyone can locate just about anybody. It’s a bit like stalking, but I can’t help it. When I see her name pop up in articles or on social media, I feel a mix of happiness and sorrow. I wish I could message her to express my joy for her success and let her know how proud I am that she’s pursuing her dreams.
Social media has its perks, connecting us instantly with updates about friends’ lives, from new jobs to family milestones. Yet, it also makes us more accessible than ever, allowing anyone to find us if they try hard enough. I often find myself reminiscing about Sarah, and the distance between us feels even more pronounced when I see her posts.
I miss her dearly. The temptation to unfriend her husband and stop following her updates is always there, but I hold on to a sliver of hope that one day she might think of me too. Perhaps she will stumble upon a post of mine and click “like,” just once.
Four years later, the ache remains. I wish I could reach out and tell her how happy I am for her, how grateful I am for the friendship we had, and that I’m always here for her—if she ever decides she wants me back in her life.
For further insights into relationships and motherhood, you may want to check out this engaging post on Cervical Insemination. If you’re considering home insemination, Make a Mom offers excellent kits for at-home use. Additionally, Rmany is a fantastic resource for guidance on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, friendships can be complex and sometimes fragile. The connections we cherish can be lost in the blink of an eye, leaving us to navigate the aftermath with a mix of nostalgia and hope for reconciliation.
Leave a Reply