Over the last week, I’ve been reflecting on friendship.
When you lose your partner, often you also lose your best friend. Losing your best friend changes the dynamics of how you share information. There is no longer one person to call for everything. Throw in widow brain and you won’t even remember who you’ve told what to.
Most of my friends are partnered, so I expect their best friends are their spouses. Which can make me feel second tier, even though no one would intentionally put me in that box. Regardless, that’s where my brain assigns me in the pecking order.
I sometimes find myself floundering when sharing information about my life. Who wants to hear about my children’s accomplishments? No one thinks they are as amazing as I do. When my job is stressful, where can I let off that steam? What about a medical diagnosis that could be nothing but could be something scary? It’s not time to spin off into a panic but you don’t want to hold it in either. Does anyone want to hear about my dating life when I usually don’t even make it to a second date?
All of these are things I would have instinctively shared with Tony. (Besides dating, that would not be happening at all if he was here.) So, when big things happen on either side of the emotional spectrum, I often find myself struggling to know who to call. The one person I want to call can’t answer. I often end up sharing with whoever I see next. It’s not a testament to a friendship hierarchy; it’s just my scattered brain finding a release. Please don’t ask me who I’ve told what to, I probably don’t remember that either.
I value my friendships deeply but even three years later, I’m still kind of a mess. I am not the same as I once was, but my broken heart needs friendship more than ever even though I’m an imperfect mess.
