The Ghost of Friendship Past
when the magic of a season becomes a reminder of what we've lost
Issue #39
Dear Reader,
The spooky Halloween decorations have been popping up around the neighborhood but for me it’s grief that comes haunting this time of year.
It started when I lost my Dad in October many years ago. On the way to his memorial service I held his urn in one arm as I drove past the blazing Tennessee trees. For the rest of that season I braced myself against the beauty that surrounded me, a beauty that only seemed to magnify the pain. When Fall returned the next year the colors were a scorching reminder of my Dad’s absence.
It’s been twelve years since my Dad died and the grief has settled down into a whisper but another loss has taken its place. A few years ago our family lost our community, severed from the families we shared life with on a daily basis. Our break-up was a side effect of the implosions that spread throughout churches and schools and families during the pandemic.
Grief came knocking this month because October was a time of shared revelry in our community: autumn-flavored feasts, a fall birthday, a costume party, a mob of families trick-or-treating through the neighborhood together. When I thought about celebrating the season in all its glory, I thought of these friendships.
When our family’s connection with our community ended abruptly it felt like we had been cut out of the group photograph with sharp scissors. The rest of the community seemed to continue on, their rhythm unchanged, while our hearts hemorrhaged. In the months that followed, one particular question haunted me.
Was it real?
Was the connection we shared before it all disappeared—real?
On the countless days that our families played together from ten in the morning until dusk, when the husbands showed up to join us for an impromptu dinner—was the friendship real?
At the costume party each year, when a bunch of adults grew young and silly again and we all felt safe enough to laugh at ourselves and be laughed at—was the safety real?
That birthday of mine, the night when I finally opened my heart enough to believe these women were gathered around me because they truly cared about me—was their affection real?
I couldn’t make sense of the love that had once held us and the depth of pain that had replaced it.
“I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved-”
-Louise Glück, from her poem First Memory
I have previous experience with losing friendships, with that familiar feeling of rejection, with believing the pain meant that I was someone “who was not loved”.
As I’ve wrestled with this grief, trying to find a path forward, I’ve been learning that maybe grief is not trying to haunt me, maybe it’s trying to reveal to me who I am and what I care about. Read the verse from Glück’s poem with the next line added:
“I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.
It meant I loved.”
Glück’s poem offers a different way to remember those eight years of friendship. The pain is present because I loved this group of families and the space we created when we were together.
I am someone who loved.
I am someone who loves.
In this version of the story the friendships may end but the rejection doesn’t change who I am and what I have to give to future friendships.
///
So I return to the question—was it real?
I’ve been sitting with this question through several seasons and as the grief has grown quieter, I’ve been able to reach some conclusions. I believe the friendships and the laughter and the safety was real. I believe I can hold onto the eight years of beloved community and I can also grieve the end of those friendships. What grace there is to realize that the end doesn’t have to erase the beginning and middle.
If you are entering this next season and the very things about it that bring others joy are causing you pain, then say it with me:
I am someone who loved.
I am someone who will love again.
What about you? Have you lost someone in a season that used to bring you joy? Have you asked hard questions about what was true before your loss and what is true after?
Free Wallpaper
Blessings from the Guest Nest,
-Aimee
If you’d like to support the writing and art I make for this newsletter, you can donate to my art supply fund through “Buy me a Coffee”!
I appreciate the conversation you're bringing up in your writing 💛
Grief likes to settle back and take over when we least expected it and we’re always questioning it’s intention. Thank you for sharing your story and what the month of Autumn means to you. I go through a similar phase in November and am slowly feeling that it's coming soon through my dreams.
Thanks for sharing, Aimee 🪷
I really appreciate your landing in this piece. There is grace in a healing story and the story goes on. 💜