On Saying Farewell, but Not Goodbye

Today, on Friday the Thirteenth, I say farewell to my best friend.

I admit, I cried when I finally hugged her and tearfully promised to write and call and visit when I can, but I'm no stranger to tears or parting of ways. Somewhere during that final embrace, I realized that I have no other close friends other than my family and boyfriend.

People are categorized as extroverts or introverts, friendly or antisocial, but really, these labels are totally arbitrary when it comes to how we make friends. Some of us have droves of friends, a circle of social contacts and a bevy of personalities to choose from when we desire human interaction.

I used to behave that way, when I was younger and better able to ignore people's foibles and idiosyncrasies and just enjoy the grab-bag approach. Ten years in the Air Force dragged me into a way of life where my companions were my co-workers, family, party-buddies, roommates and even lovers, sometimes. From one month to another, my circle of friends changed with the inevitability of reassignments and separations from the military. It was expected, it was fluid and organic and that laissez-faire attitude was the norm, not the exception. Some people, I would keep in touch with for a while after, but then, the friendships would fade out imperceptably, phone numbers would be lost, new friends would capture my interest. Old friends would move again, contact lost forever.

High school friends fell by the wayside soon after I graduated, I was on to new horizons, and college friends were even less attached to my heartstrings. Very few people I knew were travelling on the same path as I was, I was also too eager to see the world, to meet new faces. The fault truly lies at my feet, like an old, sightless hound, vaugely aware of the smell of yesterday's dinner in its nose.

I have let go of nearly every one of my dearest friends the same way.

This one is different, though. This friend came back after a nasty parting of ways over the unfortunate decision to become roommates went sour over silly differences of lifestyle and perceptions of responsibilities. After six years of separation, our paths reconverged quite literally, on a path in the woods. Past resentments dropped away in the space of a breath, replaced by, well, relief.

Four years later, after her marriage and career started moving purposefully towards fruition, her sister, like mine several years earlier, developed Multiple Sclerosis, sending her into a vortex of worry and a desire to help, someway, anyway. A visit to her sister's home in North Carolina yielded leads to jobs for her and her husband. The leads turned into offers and suddenly, it was time to pack up their belongings and relocate.

So, here I sit, drinking red wine, which I barely tolerate due to allergies. She drinks red wine. She loves the stuff, and I'd like to buy her bottles recommended to me, but I never buy them because I can't share her joy for the stuff. Selfishly, I buy white wines, which she barely tolerates because they aren't red.

There will be a week of intense feelings of loss, followed by too many phone calls to "check in" and cry about how much I miss her. But sooner or later, I'll start to save my money and make plans with our mutual acquaintance to road trip to visit her.

I wonder how long she'll let me stay...