We’ve all done it. Let’s not make liars of ourselves. A forgotten friend comes into sight. In a car park. The biscuit aisle in Tesco. On the bus. Where it happens doesn’t really matter. But we’ve all done it. And once we do, it draws a close to a chapter that didn’t need closing. But we just weren’t in the mood or simply didn’t fancy the effort.
An old work colleague, a former schoolfriend. Whatever the dynamic, we have all at one stage or another and realistically on a multitude of occasions, intentionally ignored an old friend by avoidance.
This isn’t the friend who transpired to be not so genuine, loyal or as decent as we thought at the time. The friend we consciously distanced ourself from for what could be a variety of reasons. Because we have all had to do that too. And we’ve all been ignored too. But why do it? Why avoid someone we didn’t fall out with and simply drifted from? Because that’s how most friendships go; they just organically dissolve of their own accord.
That’s why when an old friend called me as we walked on opposite sides of the road many years ago, I was grateful then, and indebted now, that he made that effort. He didn’t take the easy option. And now, I have a clear, final memory, that’s brimming with warmth – Shane’s smile and, most of all, that great gift we have the capacity to give each other: an interest in someone that’s genuine and sincere.
The odd message would be exchanged over the years, but there it ended. Shane was one of two best friends I had in primary school. Ed and Shane. Ed, I was happy to meet again in May this year at a 30-year-out school reunion. Friends from secondary school. Al, another Shane, another Brian, Daragh.
We picked up where we left off. In some cases the full 30 years had passed. Nothing had changed in the dynamics. But Shane wasn’t there as, nearly two years before, Shane had died. And the day the news was relayed started a revisiting of a friendship that had not been forgotten, but wasn’t an everyday presence either.
We all suffer loss, we all grieve, learning with age that it’s the price we pay for the love we shared. It turns out decades can pass, there can be little or no contact; but the memories we have aren’t just that – they’re real emotions that have simply lain dormant.
Death, and an unexpected death at that, can bring an almost insurmountable fusion of memories and emotions. When I was told of Shane’s passing, I was overwhelmed by the memories. Tiny details that under any other circumstances might have been long redundant.
Loneliness: There’s a reason why we use the term ‘power of connection’
The regret of not being in his life rankled too. Not to know his wife, to have met his children. But you have to marry this with reality.
The reality was that by the time we were teenagers we had drifted to a point that couldn’t be revisited. In essence Shane changed the trajectory of my life. He had decided to become a boarder in Colaiste Na Rinne. Being a friend I loved being around so much, I decided to follow suit. When Shane decided to pull out, I still went with it. It was a wonderful experience. But by the time secondary started, he had moved on.
It could be countered that it would have happened anyway. He was a genuinely talented athlete. When you don’t scale similar heights, you tend to not share similar circles. But there were other minute differences that would have ultimately spelt a difference coming about; the reality was, he had that quality that divides so many teenagers – he was simply much cooler than me.
So if we had drifted to such an extent, there was a question that needed answering. Why have I not been able to shake the memories? Why every day do I think of him? Feel saddened? But ultimately feel tied to him and our friendship that to all intents and purposes had ended in the late 1980s.
‘I’m happily married with three young children – but loneliness has become a feature of my life’
This does not equate in any way to what his close loved ones have been through and will continue to experience. You question yourself and tell yourself it’s secondary. And it is. But at the same time, in isolation, it’s real and needs to be tackled, and anyone in such a situation needs to face it. It’s the reality that some friendships live on in your heart, even if the friendship has long since been active.
Today, myself and my children visited an old work colleague, Eamonn, and his young family. It was simple and in being so was uplifting. It was tea and coffee and my older children getting a kick out of his younger children. They were all on the same level. Playing, messing, taking penalties in a garden goal, sitting on a swing, walking around with our dog.
I hadn’t seen Eamonn in a number of years. But the moment I saw him it was still there; the connection. The warmth, humour and interest was still there. We had both made the effort to stay in touch and it paid off in spades.
Loneliness in early motherhood: ‘I can’t keep calling my mum up here every day’
Maybe it’s not always feasible, maybe sometimes we think too much time has passed. If it has, it has. I still think, though, of that day, when Shane called me from the opposite footpath. If he hadn’t, well, I wouldn’t have known. But he did. And I’m blessed with that final memory. I couldn’t tell you a word that was spoken, but I remember the warmth.
That feeling will never cease to exist.