Will You Still Be My Friend?

I’ve been sitting here on my laptop looking through photos of times past. I’ve seen smiling faces, silly poses, yummy food and holiday snaps. Yet with every photo that has slid past me on the screen my heart has grown heavier. I have had to stop looking and I have tried to stop thinking. I’m good at that. I can distract myself easily, and immerse myself in work or thoughts of happy things. I can lose myself in the troubles of others and try to make their burdens lighter.

Tonight I can’t. I’m sitting in my chair with tears pouring down my cheeks. My heart feels so heavy I can hardly bear it. I have a question that keeps circling my head. I can’t make it stop. It has become so loud it has overpowered every other thought. It circles over and over and over. The question plaguing me tonight is this:

“Will you still be my friend?”

It is a question we ask when we are children, when we made our friend sad or angry and they weren’t playing with us anymore. We run up to our friend and plead with them and say:

“I’m sorry I took the last blue pencil. Here, I’ll let you have a go. Will you still be my friend?”

When we grow up it is a question we dread to ask when a friend has discovered something about us that we wish remained hidden. We are wracked with guilt, thinking that we have no right to be loved, that such an exposure of our dark selves will result in rejection and repulsion. We may not even be able to voice our question, but our whole being silently implores our friend:

“I know I don’t deserve it but…will you still be my friend?”

I have asked these questions of friends in the past. Some of these friends I am still blessed to have in my life. You, my dear friend, are one of them. But tonight the question is different. It does not come from a place of childhood innocence or guilt over a confession. It comes from a very complex place that is filled with deep love, wonderful memories, fear, grief and uncertainty.

As you know, in 3 months and 2 days I’ll be leaving Sydney. I’m so excited sometimes I just grin like a loon to myself when I think about it. But to get to where I’m going I’ll be leaving Sydney behind. I’ll be leaving you behind, friend. And as I leave I may not say it, but I have no doubt it will be circling our minds:

“Is this goodbye to our friendship, or will you still be my friend?”

I have been learning that there are usual patterns of friendship that people generally follow. One of these is the end of friendship. This does not mean that there has been an argument or irreconcilable difference. It just means that both people have moved on in their lives. They may have physically moved, so contact has become more difficult. They may no longer have common interests, or they may be at very different life stages. The changes might happen quickly or over a long period of time. Often associated with the ending of friendship is a period of grief – grief for the friendship lost. And this is the natural evolution of friendships over a lifetime. Because, let’s face it, we simply don’t have the time to maintain every single friendship that we have in our lifetime.

But, my friend, I don’t want to lose you. I love you. You know me better than I know myself. You make me smile when I’m down. You cry with me when I’m sad. You don’t just reminisce of our past adventures, you create new memories with me. You stand up to me when I’m wrong. You teach me how to live rightly by both your words and your life. You let me into your family, your life. You come on holidays with me and take silly photos. We have our little jokes and looks that no-one else can understand but that are second nature to us. We end up in fits of laughter over ridiculous things. We quote things out of context but we get each other. It is together that we ride this rollercoaster called life. And I don’t want to be on this ride without you. You make this ride OK. And I hope I help make it OK for you too.

So, I have a question to ask.

In 5 months, when I visit Sydney for graduation. When memories are fresh and the changes still a novelty:

“Will you still be my friend?”

When I come and visit in a year and we have forged new friendships. When the near future is looking more certain for us, but this certainty means living across the globe:

“Will you still be my friend?”

When over the years our catch-ups become virtual. When we see each other and notice we have aged:

“Will you still be my friend?”

When yearly catch-ups seem too hard and most other people have moved on:

“Will you still be my friend?”

When our lives are completely separate and we seem to have little in common but memories:

“Will you still be my friend?”

When we are struggling with life or bursting with joy. When our lives are busy with family and new friends:

“Will you still be my friend?”

When we watch friends fall away and grieve for those who have gone before us:

“Will you still be my friend?”

When you hear things through the grapevine rather than hearing them from me:

“Will you still be my friend?”

When we desperately wish to be there for each other but circumstances keep us apart:

“Will you still be my friend?”

When we look at old photos and remember times past like our grandmas do:

“Will you still be my friend?”

I’m not talking of friends who catch up. I’m not talking of friends who live in the past and can’t move forward. I’m talking about living, growing, ongoing friendship. I’m talking about being real with each other. Being there for each other, no matter the distance. Knowing that I would drop everything for you if you needed me to and never doubting that you would do the same for me. Catching up whenever possibly, even years apart, but it being like time never passed. Having not just a memory of love but ongoing, growing love.

“Will you still be that kind of friend?”

The sadness and fear surrounding this question is, of course, that we don’t know. No matter what we promise, no matter how firm our love or commitment, we just can’t know the answer.

And that hurts. It really hurts.

It hurts more because the love is great. If I didn’t love you so much it wouldn’t hurt so much. And ironically the fact that it hurts is a truly beautiful thing.

We know, of course, that we both have a friend of whom we never have to ask such questions. A friend we never have to say goodbye to. A friend who is with us always. A friend who knows us better than we know ourselves and loves us more than we can ever imagine. A friend who knows the great value of friendship and has given you to me. A friend who knew I needed friends like you.

I want to say “Thank you”. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being my friend. Thank you for sharing your life with me. Thank you for trusting me enough to share your hopes and dreams with me. Thank you for speaking your mind and not just saying what I wanted to hear. Thank you for crying with me and letting me use all your tissues. Thank you for being a light for me during that disgusting period of darkness called depression. Thank you for being silly with me, for laughing with me and at me. Thank you for forgiving me when I hurt you, and being brave enough to tell me the pain I caused. Thank you for teaching me how to love and be a friend to other people.

I know God knows what He’s doing. I can’t wait to dive into next year and see what He’s got planned. I can’t wait to hear what you are up to and what God has planned for you. I can’t wait to hear about the new friends you have made and tell you all about mine. I pray earnestly that one day I can be the kind of friend to someone else that you have been to me.

But for now the unanswerable question continues to circle. For now I cling to the joy of friendship here with you, my dear friend, and hope desperately that it will continue to live and thrive. For now the question thrown into space with desperation, hope and fear is:

“Will you still be my friend?”

**Please note that while this appears to be written to one person, my mind has been flooded with the faces of so many wonderful people while writing. If you can imagine me saying this to you, the chances are you are one of those people I have cried for tonight.**