The last time I heard from my friend Kira – well, inactive friend I suppose – was way back in April of this year. I’d been trying to set up a time to hang out since January, but she had repeatedly declined, to the point where I was starting to take it personally. We’d had a couple of difficult patches of friendship before, where I had to make it clear that not responding to texts or phone calls for months at a time was not going to work for me, and she said she understood.
Cold earth sleeps
Underneath a flaming northern sky
The snowy trees gently weep
This dark Christmas time
Now it’s been almost a year since I last saw her, and eight months since she last bothered to text me back. Looking at my long litany of texts since then – some comical, some casual, some desperate, some panicked – I cringe at my pathetic attempts to cling to a friendship that apparently slipped away many months ago.
Normally this wouldn’t be a big deal – no one really returns texts anymore, and to expect them to be timely is even more laughable. Still, it’s no secret that it’s a sore spot for me, and it preys diabolically on my most tender and raw insecurities of not mattering – and admittedly hurts me in a way that explains so very much of my pathology. The entire ghosting thing, and not responding at all, even in the face of pointed pleas to “Just tell me you are alive and not dead or deported by ICE”, strikes at my heart in a manner that has directly fueled the monster I’ve become.
Don’t hide the light that shines in you
Let the brightest star of Bethlehem
Make your darkness fade away
Believe the power of your dreams
You’re the Pharos in the night
Guiding us, you’ll lead the way
Eventually, I tracked down one of her daughters on social media, who said her mother still had the same number, and I assumed that meant she was alive as well – and that’s all that matters, and all that’s left to say. This sort of thing has never happened to me before – not in a platonic relationship. Romantically, I’ve scared away more than my fair share of possible paramours – and their ghosting of me made more sense. I don’t understand anything about this one, all I feel is hurt, confused, and looking for another failure on my part to make it make sense. The world has thrown enough at me this year to start making me doubt myself.
With Kira gone from my life, that means that one of my favorite holiday traditions – our holiday stroll – has also come to an end. It seems like many of the traditions I once held so close to my heart have fallen by the wayside, and at this point I am trying hard to even be bothered by it, because I really should care. Apathy begets apathy I suppose, and maybe it was time for me to let go of such things. In so many respects I am the only one holding on to traditions – and for what? Maybe there is something to honoring tradition year after year, as a means of grounding our lives at regular intervals in a way that matters to us – and maybe there isn’t. I watch today’s generation flit from year to year, experience to experience, with no ties or significant pulls to anything other than the moment at hand. They don’t hang onto traditions, or friends, the way I did. Maybe that’s the best route to take now. Maybe none of it fucking matters, and that might just make life much easier and less tortured. It will certainly make holiday-planning easier and completely absolve me of any obligation to be there for any of it.
We are not obligated to anything, or anyone, and it may be high time for me to join the masses and let go of tradition for the sake of tradition. Perhaps that goes for friendships too – just because we shared a certain section of life together need not mean we have to share the rest of it, and that doesn’t have to be a bad or sad thing. I’d rather remember the good times Kira and I shared, and not the fact that she ghosted me, as I’m sure she must have her reasons. That’s the sort of peace and happy ending I want and need right now. Being messy – even on an emotional level – is always a choice. And as messy as I’ve been in the past, there’s a point when one must decide to stop the mess, and this is that season for me.
Snowflake falls, warms my heart
Memories call me home
Silence hauls, fears depart
I’ll never be alone.
