Updated: Jul 2, 2020
| This is the 263rd story of Our Life Logs |
Have you ever met someone that was such a complement to your soul that meeting them was like discovering a color you had never seen before? Suddenly, the world felt a little brighter, the sky a little bluer, and life’s worries a little less…worrisome. That person for me wasn’t a love interest, but a dear friend that brought light to my darkest days.
I was born in St. Louis, Missouri, on August 5th, 1950. The second-born of two children, you could say I was a very happy child with an easy smile. I remember being very curious about people and the world around me. I was inquisitive and social, but I also had a sensitive side. I was definitely a “daddy’s girl,” which made losing him without warning to a sudden heart attack when I was 13 extremely traumatic. I remember feeling very lost, and the reality that I was not close with my mother offered no solace. I needed to find my smile again, my joy. I needed an outlet for my emotional depth and sensitivity, and I think that was my impetus for ultimately pursuing a career in behavioral health.
In search of that solace, I also tried to build strong friendships. Unfortunately, most of my friendships were fleeting. People often connect for a reason, and it lasts for a short time—a season if you will. This was often the case during my college and early adult years. There wasn’t that one person I could rely on. From job promotions to terminations to relocations, we each have an invisible wind that carries us along life’s many pathways. It can be hard to accept, but some people are only meant to be for a chapter or two…
Yet, my negativity toward friendship shifted when I met Barb. It was the summer of 1980, in St. Louis, when I was introduced to the lady I would come to know as my “soul sister.” I owe it all to a chance meeting between my husband Mark, our son Josh, and Barb and her daughter Nikki. Mark was taking Josh, who was around 16 months old, swimming at the local Jewish Community Center. He happened to strike up a conversation with Barb, who had been playing in the pool with her daughter; the little girl was around the same age as our son. After sharing some background on our two families, Mark felt that Barb and I would totally hit it off.
And we did. It was indeed a match made in heaven. We spoke as if we had known each other for years! Our personalities were strikingly similar. Our conversation flowed with ease, and I enjoyed listening to her talking about life. We both were stay-at-home moms at the time, and since our kids got along, we began setting up some future play dates.
Before long, weekends were spent hanging out poolside or having dinners together; the two dads and kids joined a “Dad & I” group. Barb and I loved taking the kids out to places like Chuck E. Cheese’s and the arcade. By now, we were all like extended family. We had other good friends in our lives, but this was beyond compare.
The years flew by, and our kids grew up together and respectively thrived. The two of them came into their own as bright, sensitive adolescents with good heads on their shoulders. Josh steadily excelled, but one day, Nikki suddenly began to struggle, emotionally. She had difficulty fitting or maintaining friendships which led her to a dark state of mind.
Barb and Jim had discussed a “fresh start” that they felt would benefit their entire family. Jim was looking at early retirement, Barb wanted to be close to her mom, and Nikki was growing more socially isolated. When Barb told me in 1994 that they were moving to Cincinnati, Ohio that August, I was not surprised, but it was the confirmation I was dreading. After a wonderful 14 years, our families were now going to be several states apart. I was devastated. And so, that summer of 1994, we said our teary goodbyes. Jim and Barb reassured us that we would stay in touch, but life has a way of…getting in the way.
Barb and I remained in contact fiercely in the beginning. But over time, both busy, working moms, we started to lose touch. I never thought it to be deliberate at all, but I did feel that she was detaching from me, emotionally. At this point, I was working as a licensed professional counselor, and I knew she had her own professional life (she had started her own business in St. Louis and then later opened an office in Cincinnati) as well as the normal family demands, but I could not help but feel I was losing my best friend. It was not a malicious thing, nor was it by any means premeditated. However, the sheer fact that it happened at all was a complete shock for me. My dearest friend—seemingly ever-present—gradually began to slip away.
The phone calls became fewer and farther between, and Nikki, with whom I used to exchange frequent emails thanks to the advent of the Internet, had also lapsed in her correspondences as she grew older. Our once vibrant dialogue gradually shifted into small talk and in time, all went silent.
The world kept on turning, as it does. I continued working as a professional counselor, helping others manage their daily stressors and interpersonal conflicts, but suddenly I was the conflicted one. I needed a hand to reach out to in the darkness. I couldn’t understand it. How could a precious, sisterly bond so profound, so sealed, be suddenly broken? I needed my true friend to not just provide a shoulder on, but to lean during the torrential downpour of my life. Barb was not there to weather the storms with me. I was inconsolable and unsure of where to turn. I had other friends and close family, but the vacancy was felt, deeply. It was as though a beautiful passage in my life’s book had suddenly, without warning, been forcibly interrupted, leaving me lost and wounded. How could that have been the end of Barb’s chapter in my life?
My husband and I came to a crossroads in our own lives: both practicing counselors, we had also ventured into the sticker business, which had been extremely successful, but we began itching for a change. A major one. We sold our sticker business—and our beautiful home—and bought a horse ranch in Costa Rica in 2002. It was something we had talked about but were waiting for the right time to proceed. Now that Josh was a grown adult and living his life independently, we knew our time had come.
Mark and I had always been drawn to horses and their energy, beauty, and gentleness. If I am honest with myself, I think that subconsciously I was looking to the horses to soothe my own heartache over drifting from Barb. In starting this new chapter of my life, I had memories of Barb and her family that kept me from truly feeling whole. I remembered Josh and Nikki horseback riding with their dads. Yes, after all these years, we still missed our dear friends.