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In 2007 I took a trip to New York City and two-and-a-half days into the 5 day vacation I fell and broke my foot. The fifth metatarsal was broken in 3 places and in addition to being put in the hospital and in excruciating pain, I was upset and furious with myself for not preventing the fall. I spent the last two days of my vacation in a hotel room. I was miserable and just wanted to come home.
I had no idea how much my broken foot was going to impact my life. I flew home and was transported by wheelchair through the airport into my husband’s waiting arms. The day after I got home I called Kate to let her know what happened. Five minutes and the conversation was over. Well, that was weird. Did she cut it short because she on her way over with flowers? Chocolates, a magazine or some Ben & Jerry’s perhaps? Yes, these ideas crossed my mind. She was my best friend. I’d always been there for her. Of course she’d come!
Days dragged by. No Kate. I tried to keep a positive attitude, but I was really depressed. I wasn’t ambulatory and I couldn’t drive. A month after I got home a friend swapped cars with me so that I’d have an automatic to drive since I owned a manual transmission. I couldn’t use my left foot at all, so driving a car with a clutch pedal was out. Now…. I realize I’m a big baby. My pain threshold is very low and I’m too sensitive — something I’ve tried to fix over the years. But my foot was absolutely killing me. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and as I lay on my couch, elevating my foot for a month, I watched movies, read the newspaper, worked from home on my laptop and held a big pity party for myself. And yes, I waited for Kate to call or show up. I admit it. I waited and waited and waited.
I am an active person who likes to get up and go when I want to get up and go. I hated being dependent on people. While I convalesced, many friends called, emailed and sent cards. Some friends brought prepared meals for my family. I got flowers from work and regular check-ins from colleagues. I’m blessed to have many other good friends — I was appreciative of all of it, but I was aware that one person was missing. After hearing about my accident, Kate never came to my house, never sent a card, and after the initial conversation, we never talked again on the phone. Nine weeks went by and I never heard once from her. I refused to call her and as each day went by, I thought more and more about our friendship, about our history together, about what she had gone through and how I had been there for her. I started to get really angry to the point where my heart was racing and I started losing sleep. I couldn’t concentrate. I was a mess physically and emotionally. I decided I was not going to pick up the phone and call this selfish, self-absorbed, self-centered bitch. I was not going to beg for her to care about what happened to me; care about how I was feeling and what I was going through. If it didn’t spring from her in the same genuine place of love, sisterhood and care that I had given her from deep within me, then screw her.
So, nine weeks later I was able to get around town with the loaned automatic little VW bug and I maneuvered a stop at a local coffee shop. Yes, she was there, reading a newspaper with a friend. I hobbled right passed them both with my leg in a medical boot and they didn’t notice me, but as I was leaving Kate saw me. As I got into the car Kate hurried up to me. “I didn’t see you!” she expressed breathlessly with a big smile on her face. “How are you?”
How am I? HOW AM I?? Why should you care, is what I was thinking. And I started shaking. Now, this occurred nine months ago, so I can’t remember my exact words, but my recollection is that it went something like this: “How Am I??? You really want to know how I am??!! Well, I’m having a really hard time, Kate. I’ve had a really hard time. And you’ve been nowhere. You haven’t bothered to check in with me, call me, stop by, or anything. I haven’t spoken to you in NINE weeks. NINE weeks!! You are not a good friend. You are no friend at all.”
She looked like she’d been slapped. She collected herself, and in her I’ve-been-in-therapy-and-I-know-how-to-handle-this voice, she said, “I can see you’re really angry.” I just stared at her. Gee…ya think??? I remember hitting her with “You’re not loyal, Kate. You don’t care about others. You just move on.” And I was shaking pretty bad and my eyes were welled with tears and I remember being frustrated about that and not wanting to cry – she once pointed out to me that my emotions “don’t always hold you in good stead.” Once when we were having a particularly contentious exchange via email – not a good way to communicate when you are having an argument because you can’t read tone — she told me that: “your emotions don’t hold you in good stead.”
She said again, “I can see you’re really angry,” then added, “I had no idea you were going through this.” I said, “How could you know? How would you have a clue when you haven’t called to find out how I’m doing?” She said, “I’m sorry. I really am. Can I call you later?” I said, “Yes….you can call, but don’t send me one of your letters.” Her face went white. Kate is a prolific letter-writer, having a flair for words and style. I did not want to be on the receiving end of one of her written spankings. She sent one of her vitriolic letters to another former friend, and when Kate read it to me, I was struck by her performance and by the theater of it all. I remember thinking, “Why the hell doesn’t she just call her? If her friend is important to her, this is something that should be discussed instead of chewing her out like a 10-year-old via letter.” It’s what I call a “punch a run.” If you write a nasty letter, you have the last word and put the other person in the position of ignoring you or struggling to write a reply. It’s quite a tactic.
Kate called me two days later and asked if she could come over. I said no. “You’re not ready? Too soon?” she asked, sounding all shrink-like. “Yes, too soon.” She said she’d call later in the week. And she did. Three days later she asked if she could come for a visit. She brought me a latté and I sat on the couch with my foot elevated and she sat on the love seat across from me. She told me that she broke her foot when she was in her 20s and it was not big deal, it healed in a few short weeks and that she had no idea this was such a hard thing for me. Well, breaking bones when you’re in your 50s is an entirely different thing – it takes longer to heal and I will probably feel the pain for the rest of my life. But this is not really about “The Broken Foot.” The broken foot and not hearing from her for nine weeks was the catalyst for what was going to happen anyway. The break-up, the split, the disconnect, the falling-out, the friendship divorce – whatever we want to name it – was going to happen anyway. Her interest in me over the years had diminished as her life had changed. As she told me on the day she showed up with the latté, sometimes she doesn’t see her friends for months at a time, and they just pick up where they left off. It’s no biggie. Friendships change. Her life had changed. She was too busy to talk to me a few times a week.
So, she was too busy. Okay. That stuck with me. But here’s the nastiest and most painful part. She insisted – INSISTED – that she was going to be a “better friend.” She actually agreed with me when I accused her of not being loyal. She asked me to forgive her. I said, “Don’t you know me by now? After all this time you wonder if I’m going to forgive you? Of course, I’m going to forgive you. For crissake!” And we laughed over it. After a 2-hour visit and hugs at the door, we said goodbye and she said she was going to call me, make a conscious effort of getting together, of being there for me. She promised. I remember her words so clearly. “You’re right. I have not been a good friend. You have been a very good friend to me. I am going to be a better friend. I am going to make this a priority. I promise.”
So, here’s how “priority” works in Kate’s life. ….between August and November we got together two more times for coffee. After that we had minimal contact – a birthday card from her, a Christmas card from me, and a couple of emails. Nothing deep, nothing real. Just superficial bullshit. She doesn’t know that both my mother and I contracted the Noro Virus in December and that my mother ended up in the hospital. We were both very ill. She doesn’t know that my 46-year-old sister is pregnant with her first child and that there’s something wrong with the baby. She doesn’t know that I have had challenges with being a mother of teenagers and I could have used her shoulder a few times. She doesn’t know that I had to put my beloved dog to final rest recently. (I remember rushing over to her house to console her when she put her dog down several years ago.) In the all the ways I was there for her, she is not and has not been there for me. It’s a huge blow.
At this writing, nearly six months have gone by without any contact between us. I’ve analyzed the hell out of this. I’ve talked to my husband until he’s begged for mercy. His conclusion? “You’re too much work for her. She’s moved on.” That’s what my husband said. “You’re too much work.”
The grown-up me would like to wish Kate well. No, actually I’d like to punch her lights out. I’d like to spray paint “Bitch” on her Prius. I’d like to march in front of her house with a sign that says “Don’t be friends with this woman. She’ll use you up and spit you out.” I’d like her to break her foot! Yet, I know myself well enough to do what is right — take the high road – be the big person and wave when I see her, be cordial and say, “How are you? Hope all is fine.” I’ll try. Will it come across forced? False? Rehearsed? I don’t know. I just don’t know what I’ll do when I see her. And I will see her — this town is too small not to run into her sometime. I’ll just have to see if my emotions “hold me in good stead or not.” Maybe I’ve learned something by now.
So, how do I resolve this loss? How does it end? It just does. Here’s what I need to accept: The season is over. The play is over. The book, the song, the debate, the joke, the dinner – it’s all over. The friendship that I thought was the best in the world is over. And I will move on, survive, and continue to be a good, strong, caring woman. And I will continue to build friendships with other women and I will continue to reach out. It’s in my nature to care and hold my friendships dear. But I will not allow myself to be used again. That is what this experience has taught me.
What Did I Do Wrong? Nothing. The healing has begun.
The End
Epilogue –
Karma is a funny thing. A little over a year after all this happened, Kate broke her foot. She fell in her backyard when she was alone – an ironic twist of fate. Broken and alone. I sent her a brief note wishing her will. She responded with a note acknowledging my wishes for a speedy recover and stated that she was willing to let the friendship go a long time ago and move on. Liz’s book helped me realize that I am a person who gravitates to “sparklers.” But sparklers burn out. I have learned a lot from this experience and have moved on. It was what it was. And that chapter is over. I wish Kate well.
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| If you’d like to share a story with the viewers of my site– this is the place to do it. Every month I will choose one ofthe stories submitted here for THE STORY OF THE MONTH. You can change names and places if you like…or not. Whateverworks. All of us seem to gain something just by getting it out, so purge away and no doubt many of us will learn somethingfrom your experience. |
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