|
|||||
To Lose a Friend (Vol. 5, No. 3) He’s gone. His emails no longer appear in my inbox. His quickly-spoken voice mail messages don’t appear on my machine any more. Even the contacts through his secretary have ended. He hasn’t moved from town. In fact, he’s in all the same places he used to be. Even when we appear in the same public places, he is removed. He no longer seeks me out in a crowd. In fact, he seems to turn the other way. The hastily-arranged lunches are no longer on the calendar. He’s gone. When things got strained, I rationalized the path we were on. He’s being unreasonable. He just isn’t thinking. Even if he’s having a tough time, he’s got to realize that the whole world doesn’t revolve around him and his problems. He’s gone. We were friends for almost fifteen years. In the last five or so, I had emerged as a special champion for him. I came to his defense on a regular basis. Yet, I demanded little of him. As our friendship grew, I began to notice a pattern. While I would call him or write him just as a friend, his calls to me were always tied to something he needed. I came to expect a catch. If he called, he just wanted me to do something for him. Always asking. Not anymore. He’s gone. On two occasions, he’d been there for me. Thinking that no one could understand what I was going through, I talked and he listened. The first time, I had his attention for almost half an hour. The second, about fifteen minutes. He delivered. He told me that it was important to share these sorts of things with someone else. Then he delivered a sound-byte of advice and recommended a book to read. I don’t remember him ever checking with me to see if things got better. I read the books and struggled alone in my battle. It was like he was gone. His last crisis caught me at a bad time. I was under stress, too. I thought his reaction to his situation was extreme. I wasn’t too diplomatic. I told him straight. He was wrong. Stand up. Be a man. He grew quiet. He called a couple more times. Same crisis, but a slightly different slant. I ignored a few of his calls. Then they stopped. He’s gone. I’ve made a few attempts to talk to him. Even apologized for my lack of care. But the doubt didn’t leave his eyes. His words were chosen carefully. Nothing there to encourage me to call again. He’s gone. I’ve lost a friend. Some would say that I’m far better off without him. I wonder. Does he have anyone else to help him now? Who does he call? What would have come of our friendship? I don’t suppose it matters. After all, he’s gone. But what if the purpose of our relationship was for me to be the helper? What if what I really needed was the opportunity to serve someone who couldn’t return the favor? I really want more than that. Yet, what if I was the only true friend he had? Is there really room in a friendship for the score-keeping I imposed? I’d like to ask him about it. But, he’s gone. Shine On! Copyright 2005 Joe L. Cope
|
|||||
