I’ve been thinking a lot recently about old friends and long friendships.
I’ve reconnected with a couple of friends from high school on social media and it’s been great to see where their lives have taken them. I’m looking forward to seeing my college teammates this fall as we celebrate 50 years (!) of Northwestern field hockey together back on campus. And I was sad to read this week about the deep fracture in the 50-year friendship between President Joe Biden and former Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi. Apparently they haven’t spoken since she encouraged him — indirectly, she says — to drop out of the race for another term.
Then there’s my friend Mary, who we saw for dinner last weekend as my family and I drove past her town on the way home from a long trip.
We hadn’t seen each other in several years — or even talked much on the phone — and I felt bad about it.
Mary was a special kind of friend: She was someone who had as much to talk about with my husband as she did with me, and who I saw regularly for bike rides, birthday breakfasts and general fun. Because Mary was a ton of fun, always the person who set up the Super Bowl party and found the most hilarious birthday card. She loved dressing in costume — I remember she came as me, complete with a red wig, to my surprise 50th birthday party.
We cemented our relationship on long, hot afternoons hanging out at the edge of the Spring River in Hardy, Arkansas, where Mary and her then-husband had a cabin. It was my idea of heaven: Reading, swimming, gossiping, napping, eating and drinking, all in a place that was a comfortable and welcoming as the broken-in river sandals we wore throughout the long holiday weekends we spent together. Tomas caught his first (and maybe last) fish at Hardy. We all did epic kayaking trips down the river together, cooked together and played games after dinner together. Though my husband didn’t enjoy the outdoors vibe nearly as much as I did (or, really, at all), he was a good sport about it for the years we went there, even if he always got bitten by something. Even our dogs were friends.
So I was sad when it became clear that Mary was thinking of moving away. I understood why: Her marriage was coming apart. Her work was unsatisfying. Her brothers and their families were all closer to the other end of the state. She wanted to build a new life for herself.
It was Andy who helped her move the few things she wanted to keep out of the cabin in Hardy before they sold it. I didn’t want to know.
We saw her — and we talked — a few times after she left, but it was difficult. Of course I was happy that she was happy with her family nearby and had found a great bike group to join. But I also missed her and missed the things we all used to do together. As another friend and I often said, “We lost the cabin in Hardy in the divorce.”
But I see now that wasn’t particularly fair to Mary, as understandable as it was. So when I knew our trip recently would take us close to Mary’s house, I asked if she wanted to get together.
It was lovely: She made dinner, asked her boyfriend to join us, and showed us around her new house. I recognized quite a few of the photos on the wall, though there were lots of new things, too.
It’s different, though, reconnecting when you’re older, isn’t it? It takes more time to get to things that are harder to talk about — health issues, disappointments, friends we no longer see at all. There’s all that history, some of it difficult or just fading. There are new friends, new bike groups, new dogs.
But I’m so glad we stopped by for dinner. I hope it can happen again soon.