I started following a blogger who suddenly just stopped writing and I wondered, why not blog myself? I can depend on me, and maybe in the process connect with others.
In my little town and little group of friends, I had only one friend who’d experienced trauma as a child. I’m not saying I just want traumatized friends, I’m saying I could relate to her like no one else. She died last year. It is unfair that at 60 yrs. old, I finally make a friend, get to know and love her, and have her only five years, then she dies. And I get it as I write, more horrendously unfair for her. I get it. She apologized to me for dying. That’s the person she was.
That I have friends at all and have kept them is a miracle. Along with other miracles I quietly notice and am grateful for. I made friends over the years, but couldn’t keep them, for many reasons. I’d hold things in until it be became too much, then blast them, get rid of them— too close, too caring, get away. So over time I’ve learned to accept, both my foibles and theirs, sometimes too much. I still don’t know when to speak up, say ‘that hurts,’- I retreat. But their lives are so busy, they don’t notice. I get over it. We go on.