A few years ago I ended a friendship. Not in a dramatic or spiteful way. It was so subtle that I’m not even sure she realised that I had made deliberate steps to end our friendship.
We shared a short, intense friendship over a couple of years. In the end I realised that we just saw the world differently. There were fundamental differences in the way we approached things and I didn’t see a happy ending for our relationship.
I recently found out that my former friend only has twelve months to live.
My gut reaction when I heard the news was to reach out to her, to show my support. I needed her to know that I meant her no harm, that I only wished her the best.
But once I had some time to chew on it, I realised this was more about me dealing with my own guilt and coping with my own feelings around the situation, rather than supporting her.
The gap which I’d left in her life had already been filled with wonderful, supportive new friends. I chose not to be a part of her life and, in doing so, I also chose not to be part of her death.
She has very little time left on this earth, and I hope she gets to spend that time doing what she loves, with her family and friends close by.