"Oh...That Giant Door Being Slammed Shut..."

“ Oh…That Giant Door Being Slammed Shut, Was But An End To A Forty-two Year Old Friendship…Who Knew?  “

05/30/12

As always to my very dearest friends, and constant, every loyal readers,

I find, as I get older, the less I seem to know, or understand, or validate, or…forgive; our lifespans are just not long-enough to hold decade’s grudges, against another, in anger, never speaking to them for much of one’s life.  Too soon the time rushes ahead of us, and, yes, the years accelerate to very near the speed of light; how then can we afford to waste even a precious moment of it in arguing, contention, or to find our sense of trust has been abrogated into meaninglessness.

Upon some—perhaps—clinical observation, the appearance of ‘life-long’ friends is probably no more than a thousand years old, no more than a ‘wink’ of geologic time, and a necessary nod to increased lifespans.  For think of it, where you a Neanderthal, who only lived for thirty-thirty-five years, no one lived long-enough to secure any kind of lasting friendship.

But with the advent of medicine, and the concurrent movement of populations to the cities, and therefore, affecting the compositions of ones’ tribe, we now live long enough, yet still desire a close-knit ring of family and friends.

 And, since little else can be predicted, or counted upon, this need for ‘closeness’ has become much more important, for we find in those individuals a reassuring comfort, ones who supposedly ‘love’ you (a much more recent emotion), and who will--for better definition’s sake--cover your back, as in old warrior days.

And this need to establish ‘base camp’ friends has become even more critical as the dreadful world shrinks, and in a hundred realities, enemies of all sorts lay in wait to rob you, hurt you, separate you from your new tribe, or, simply kill you, not just locally—though that, in itself—would be overly sufficient to fan our fears; but now, by push of button, can send missiles all the way around the world, for any, trumped-up reason at all.

Stepping from your front door, has again become as dangerous as was leaving the relative safety of the cave.

And no…I do not mean Face Book, with its shining galleries of total strangers…friends of friends of friends, indeed.  For we have seen that phenomenon fail at every needed tribal level, except—perhaps—to exchange recipes.

And so, sometimes, in chance, opportunity, shared interests, situations, as well as a certain physical, or soul-revealed affinities, a friendship will be born; and should all of the above requirements last, the friendship grows, as does mutual admiration, which—over time—develops into its own kind of love and regard.

And, should this ‘tie’ become strong-enough, it sometimes leads to lasting friendships that transcend the years; 

and, with age, somehow mellows into an ever-safe regard and sense of care, so that, if—for some reason—the friends move away, even a considerable absence will not tarnish it; its just like picking up where one left off…there is no sense of temporal restriction.  And one hopes to hold that friend close within one’s heart all one’s life.

When even long-time friendships seem to fade and fall way, it is because we change; and as we age, we metamorphose into caricatures of our once younger selves. Our heaped-upon dangers, sentiments, fears, obligations change, even if our base core-needs remain,

Although we plainly cannot hope to keep pace, yet we are flogged ever onwards, committed to a new reality. With time now measured into gigabytes, and processors whose dazzling speed amazes, yet, this inevitable onrush of rapid information must surely bottleneck somewhere…usually at the physical end of the spectrum; one can only read, or retain only so much material.

And as people change, with time and distance, and need—sometimes—others are recruited to become members of the tribe.  Cruelly put, it is not unlike giving a child a new toy, to find he has lost interest in one that formerly went to bed with him every night. And soon, these lonely, and discarded toys get either donated, or thrown out into the trash.

And that’s precisely the feeling when a friend one has known for forty-two years not only severs that relationship, but does so in an unforeseeable, and painful way. No sense in trying to apportion blame.  But has irreparable harm been done?  Almost. Almost to a micron’s worth of care.

“ The Players And Their Positions “

About three years, ago, now, more or less, as I never counted, I received a telephone call from a friend, whose wife I went to High School with, and with whom I had decades of shred experience, antics, sadnesses, and happy times, including her marriage to a man who since 1982, has also been my friend. Now, mind you, he already knew my late Uncle had left a little bequest to me.

On this occasion, he was most upset; their car, upon which they most heavily relied, had broken down, and needed $1,600.00 to repair.

In just a matter of a day or two, I telephoned him back, and sent to him a check for $2,000.00, to cover the repair, fill the car with gas, and then take his wife and himself off for a little, week-end stay.  I told him the check was not a loan, and that there were no strings attached.

Fast forward to the present.  The little money I received is gone, used—in part—to make repairs to the house.  And I am not only back on SSDI, and all its follies, but, have coincidentally maxxed out a credit card, which will be hell to repay.

Only just three months before, they had gone on a shopping spree, and bought new telephones, a new laptop, stereo equipment, and a large-screen, plasma TeeVee.

And the month after that, the husband—who had a cracked tooth just before his wisdom teeth, and went to a boutique dentist, for a titanium implant and a crown. Funny, but I currently have two teeth, side by side, that will see pulling, before they see a titanium implant.

But…I digress.

Two weeks ago, I spoke to him, and told him of my situation, and that—while it killed me to do so, I asked if they might pay the ‘two grand’ back to be…even $200.00 a month, for ten months would have been nice, and would have brought my credit card out of the stratosphere.

When I happened to call again, the wife literallyscreamed at me…how could I?  And that they didn’t have the money, and that she was being    threatened with being laid-off., etc., etc., etc, One shrill shriek after another. Until I said, hey, its O.K., don’t worry, it doesn’t matter.  Frankly, since she worked evenings all

the time, I really hadn’t even spoken with her in over two years; it was her husband and I who spoke with some regularity, and had enjoyable conversations about art, music, literature, though, he would not let me send to him a couple of my diary entry poems as they were, “too long.”

I tried to telephone a number of times, but could not get through.  It was only when he called me  that I found that she had ‘blocked’ my number, and, for that, I was pissing mad.

When he began to explain what had happened, though—to do so might further ‘stir things up’, I told him to just let it go, and forget it.  And when he told me he would speak to her about unblocking my telephone number, I told him that it was alright, that, when he wanted to call me—as I rarely go anywhere—I’d be glad to speak to him.

While it sounds quite odd to say, with my stress level make so much higher, my consequent  pain levels rose, until I was unhappy, suddenly feeling the true weight of m years, and as I was depressed, frankly—my dear friends—I was in sorry shape.

So far, I haven’t tried my luck in successfully dialing them, I suppose I really haven’t wanted to.  Perhaps that makes me something of a shit, but, I have other friends to call, who have not blocked my number.

A week ago, for almost two weeks I felt very hurt, that she would go so far as to block my telephone number.

But then, while I was in rehab. After having had my appendix removed too late, another friend came by fairly regularly to check the house; I had an already stamped, and addressed envelope to them, with poems and some writings inside that they had told me they did not have time to read, and so, I wasn’t going to mail it.

But when my friend saw the stamped envelope, she mailed the letter to them anyway.  Now…come one, if you didn’t want to read something, you could have made paper airplanes of it, in sailing it into the trash.  Hell…I would have never known.  But what the wife (my former friend did), was to write ‘Return To Sender’, with an arrow to my return address, and had it mailed back to me, unopened. I found THAT out, after I had returned home, again.  And, even though I had never been my intention to mail it…still, it hurt my feelings.

And, if I can now correctly recall, that, after my ‘breakdown’ in 2002, I did not hear from them for five years, until one Christmas, I decided to call THEM.

I guess, in a way I still love them, but I fully understand that they—and a few, local others—are friends enough, that they have become so entrenched in their lives, that they really do not need anyone else. A mere shade of how they and I were twenty-eight years ago.  But then, everything was so different then.  But was I the more constant friend?  I fear that somewhere in my heart of hearts, I felt betrayed.  Or maybe it was natural of them. Or just maybe, we have conflicting views of what a ‘life-long’ friendship should be like.

Double hell…I’m 58; she’s 59; and he’s 62.  We’re all a little too old, I think, for any of us to act like little, mean-spirited, temper-tantrumed kids, who need putting down for a daily nap.

I only know that, with Lupus, Fibromyalgia, Chronic Pain, RA. Chronic Fatigue, and other diagnoses that provide me with wailing agonies of pain, is that I’m getting too old for drama, or all this lingering stress.

And I am almost more than willing to let this long-time friendship just slide off the end of the world into oblivion; of course I’ll still take the husband’s calls, but in this matter, I can see them—too—tapering off until who knows what whom is doing?

I mean, the very last time I laid peepers on them, was when they—by invitation—attended my late Mom and Dad’s memorial service in late February, 2008; of course they looked great, seemed glad to see me, and to pay their respects to my mom and dad, staying, even for the buffet after the service.

Although we live only thirty-eight miles apart, they might as well live on the far side of Jupiter, and much too far to try to drive.  I guess, by then, every bush, and rock, and stone had been seen, and identified, and soon-after, became boring, much too boring to last an hour’s drive each way.

I guess that I could understand this, as it became a chore for me as well.

Am I perhaps just over-reacting, moody as I don’t feel well…or have we reached the “Rubicon” at last?  For while love (or whatever one should call it) can last, apparently without regular tending, like a desert plant), it would seem that trust can be shattered quicker than the terra cotta pot its in.

All I can say for sure is:

‘ La Rapidite Avec Laquelle Se Fane Amitie’ ‘

( The rapidity with which fades friendship )

Perhaps…you, my dearest friends can—with your comments—help me to somehow, find my way.  For, perhaps, it is I who is wrong, and over-reacting.  For maybe in your greater knowledge and understanding, and support can relate any similar situation that may have happened to you.   Maybe, I have-in my agonies of illnesses, simply lost my way.

After all, I have a quite personal investment in this friendship, one especially forty-two years long, so that an impending migraine fogs my mind, and makes me much more easily hurt.

Has the bridge already been burnt? And left me with no way to cross? And to try to swim my way across a river, made now, much too wide?

Please forgive me for airing dirty laundry, but I am in great, and greater pain—today—and still smarting from the past two weeks. Life is nothing, if not odd.

Please know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’/Charles