Good Morning,
I’ve been meaning for most of the week to set up my typewriter, after I got a text last Sunday:
___’s new address:
[Address in state far, far away from here]
The number was only vaguely familiar, but the name to whom the address belonged was my best friend from childhood through my early 20s. Sure enough, it was his mom texting, and a quick bit o’ internet sleuthing revealed the address to be a rehab. I felt relief: Not too long ago, an ex of ___’s got in touch because he’d had a breakdown after the sudden passing of his father and was trying to get the word out to anyone he knew not to give him money or do anything to help him beyond trying to get him to go to the facility his family was trying to put him into.
He is making progress in the rehab program. I’m sure he would like to hear from his friends.
is how his mom left things with me. Perhaps he would. Am I still one of those, however? I was thinking about this when I put on
Heavyweight, #52: Lenny
on my way to work the other day. I was so excited for Heavyweight to be back that I didn’t even glance at the preview text before hitting “play”. The episode, it turns out, is about host Jonathan Goldstein learning that an estranged childhood friend is dying from pancreatic cancer. As the episode unfolds, Goldstein delves into how the relationship fell apart after they were huge parts of each other’s childhoods; how they parted on less than great terms nearly a decade before reconnecting in the face of the friend’s illness. Goldstein eventually dials in on one central question: What do you owe an old friend from whom you’ve become not just estranged, but grown dramatically apart from?
It’s something I’d been thinking about all week. My own relationship with my friend had become tenuous before we drifted apart around the time The Little was born. Growing up, we’d spent significant amounts of time in each other’s homes. My mom considered him like her own. We were so close and then…not. Not only that, but he veered off into — let’s say interesting political views. That seems silly to point out now, but it feels part of a whole.
I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know what to type. I know what I want to say, but I also know that he’s in a place where he needs to try to heal. And all I want to do is lay into him for so many reasons and over so many things. I don’t want to small talk, but I don’t want to derail him in any way.
I need to at least partially get over my own shit and not bring it into the conversation. At least not right now. If/when he wants to, we can do that later. For now, I just want to be of some help. Huh. I actually do.
Until next time.
Was thinking about this all day. I went through something very similar except in August I got the call from his wife that he died. I had given up on him and hadn't had much contact the last six years but now I can't say anything at all. Reach out while you still can.