When Friends Leave

This was the summer of the mass exodus of my friends. It's not that I'm not used to saying good-bye to friends. I grew up as an Army Brat so I moved on an average of every two years until I graduated from high school. I liked moving around, meeting new people, the change of scenery, a new adventure, a clean slate. But here's the big difference, this summer, my friends left me. And I hate being left behind. Most of my friends went on to bigger and better things--new jobs, next stage of schooling, new houses--and I'm still here. And here is full of memories of my friends. Church, where most of my friends are, is weird, when I expect to see someone sitting on the pew and they are not. Or the phone rings and I know it's not them, calling to ask a favor to to borrow something. I know the solution is to get out and make new friends. But some friends are irreplaceable. Irreplaceable because we passed through some significant event, like going through a hard time together or going through something joyful together. Those experiences create powerful impressions, impressions that fade into memories. And I try to hold on to those memories but it's as hard for me as holding water in my fist--the harder I grasp, the more the water leaks out my fingers--and out my eyes for some reason. I'm writing this because I don't think I'm always emotionally honest. I think I try really hard not to miss people and pretend I don't. Why? Pride? Don't want to miss them more than they miss me? No, I don't think it's that. I think I don't like getting hurt. I mean, missing people hurts like eating emotional wasabe sauce. But I told the hubbs after a few tears squeezed out of my eyes, if I can't take the pain, I don't deserve the joy.