I was saddened to hear last week that a close childhood friend had died. My reaction seemed unusually strong as we had not actually been close in decades. Our lives rarely crossed other than the occasional school reunion and I knew little about his current life. An attempt to reconnect deeper several years ago had fallen flat. But, what was it…
We were close buddies in grade school with countless sleep overs and afternoons of play with our extended gang of kids. We played on sports teams and I handed off to him on “buck lateral reverse”, our best play. We would bring that up and smile whenever we saw one another. At nine, we were best friends and went off to camp together. That was fifty years ago this summer. Our paths diverged and we became more casual friends, eventually losing touch altogether. So, why my intense reaction?
His memories connect to a golden time in my childhood, in our leave-it-to beaver neighborhood where the world was truly our oyster. Even now, remembering that time and place brings me joy. Deaths at this age are sad, but not tragedies, reminding me of my own mortality. And I regret not keeping our bond alive through the years, yet knowing kids grow into very different people, and most childhood connections drift away. And, of course, I’d like to go back for one more fall day and play for the Ridglea Hills Mustangs, handing the ball off to my old friend.
Loss can define us as we age and how we deal with it effects the quality of all our lives. We must honor and respect our past without being dominated by it. Maybe, in the simplest terms, I’m just going to miss my friend and that time in our lives that we shared.