Healing Through Writing

All writers write. All writers write for different reasons. I simply have a love for the written word.

Some writers write to heal, whether it be fiction, non-fiction, or poetry. When I was younger, I wrote poetry daily to express my emotions. I don’t feel the need to write poems anymore. I love writing books and will continue to do so. My mind goes in many directions and I write simply what comes to mind.

That may have to change.

How many of you have had a best friend since grade school or high school? I know plenty of people that do. I don’t anymore. Without going into all the details, my best friend was making choices I did not agree with in the least. I called her on it. I told her I was losing respect for her because clearly she didn’t respect herself. This brutal honesty cost my friendship with her. 

Throughout the years, I have thought of her often. I don’t have her cell # anymore and frankly, I am scared to call her childhood #. I have written a few letters and sent a few holiday cards with no response. Finally, I gave up.

Then, through my high school alumni site on Facebook, I saw her mother had passed away. I believe it was from cancer. My ex-best friend is not on Facebook, and does not even have email that I am aware. I saw someone from her mom’s class post it. I did some research online and found the obituary. I had missed the memorial by about three weeks.

I cried. And I cried. I called my mom in tears that I had learned my oldest friend had lost her mother and I wasn’t there. Had I seen it in time, I would have shown up to be there. Her mom never liked me very much. I never knew why. And I didn’t want to know. I know I am a nice person and I cared about her daughter. As much as it hurt to lose her, I believe she got off the track she was on and I believe was doing well. Maybe my words had something to do with that.

Her mom was her best friend in the whole world. My mom having had cancer and thankfully had her tumor successfully removed with no chemo or radiation necessary, I couldn’t even imagine what she was going through. My mom was so lucky. I wished her mom had the same chance.

I couldn’t call. What could I say? So I wrote. I sent a sympathy card and told her that I loved her and thought about her often. I told her I would always be here for her and hoped to hear from her. I gave her my phone #, my cell #, my address and my e-mail address.

That was in April 2012. I have never heard from her.

I write this through tears as I am reminded that my words to her didn’t bring her back to me. I don’t know if I ever will see her again. Maybe she is afraid to see me. Maybe she does not want to see me. I don’t know. But I know that I’ve lost her. It has been about ten years since we have spoken.

When I am on Facebook, I see people I went to high school and grade school with still very connected with their crowd from the good old days. I will admit my jealousy. I don’t have that. I don’t have a friend that old that I can spend time with. Yes, I have new friends. And those new friends are great. But I don’t have some of those friends that meant the most when I was growing up and helped shape me into who I am today.

The story above, the losing of my best friend through true but painful words, is a story I feel I may have to write one day. Maybe by writing it, I can give characters closure. Maybe I can give characters the closure I can’t seem to give myself.


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