My dearest Jane,
It’s been long years since we’ve seen each other. Seems like a moment ago when we were children and now our children are grown and bringing their own children into this world. At the same time, as I think of those years so long ago, it’s as if another person lived that life, and I’m somehow quite detached.
We took very different paths, but each path still had its own difficulties – as I suppose it is for everyone. Even so, our lives, though different, were especially hard on us.
I admired your beauty and popularity when we were young. You were tall & thin with long, dark hair, dark eyes, and brows. You were so personable and possessed an enviable smile with large white teeth. Boys drooled over you and everyone wanted to be your friend.
I couldn’t have been more opposite. Short, shy, plain, and very unpopular. The fact that we were friends was only because you were new to town and both our dads served as pastors in the same large church. We became friends out of default and necessity rather than choice. (Huh. Life does that often to us, doesn’t it? We fall into default rather than pushing for our heart’s longings…but I digress). For my part, at least, I saw you as a sister-friend but knew that for you, it was a default friendship. It’s okay, I was used to it. I never had friends who chose to be my friend – it was only out of obligation or to use me for something. I learned to embrace it instinctively knowing I wasn’t the type of person to attract friends. And so I became your backup friend: there for you when you didn’t have anyone else.
However, it didn’t take long before your popularity swallowed you up and out of my life; but not before we had lots of sleepovers (remember sneaking the Friday the 13th movie into your room and being too scared to sleep then getting in trouble the next morning?), passing notes in church, breaking into the church bus to hide, and taking long walks around the church property.
Then one day, you were gone. Off with the crowds – and the boys and partying. You told me you wanted nothing to do with me. I wasn’t even invited to your wedding which was right out of high school (or did you elope? I don’t recall. One day I heard you were married and that’s all I knew). I’d see you in the distance but we never talked.
Our last meeting in person was when I was in college. Coming home for a visit, you called and asked me to come and meet your husband and baby daughter. It was good to see you. Of course, you were as gorgeous as ever and I secretly longed for your beauty and outgoing personality. College wasn’t for you but you seemed happy with your family. I returned to college and decades crawled by slowly yet quickly. In that time, I heard rumors that life was hard for you. Divorce, alcoholism, drugs, jail, more children, your children taken away, and then people not knowing where you were. I talked to your brother a few times in those years but he didn’t share much. Really, I didn’t need to know.
I also had my own tussle with divorce, losing everything including friends, family, and reputation; depression, and mental torment. Even so, by grace, I stayed hot in my pursuit of God, even in my messy & dark years.
After so many years, I’d forgotten about you. There were no common relationships to hear whispers of comings and goings. In 2018, I accidentally dialed a number on my phone and it was your mother. How I had her number in my phone is still a mystery to me. I’d never talked to her since I left our hometown when I was 18, so I was surprised to hear her voice on the other end. We laughed over a short conversation during which I gave her a cliff notes version of my current life. Your mom must have told you I called. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was when you reached not long after. It’s been over 30 years.
So much has changed – yet, it hasn’t
Time has not been good to you, Jane, and my heart aches. Years of poor choices are ravaging your body and I struggle to even find the Jane I knew in the photos I’ve seen. Is that you?
We’re so different, you and I. I hear the despair and loneliness in your voice but also feel the lack of care. You need me because there’s no one else. You don’t hear me or see me. I’m the only one willing to talk to you, and you tell me this. I’m sad for you. As we hang up the phone you tell me you love me and that you’re sorry for the past.
I tell you I forgave you long ago – and I did.
We have the same conversations multiple times over many months; perhaps you didn’t remember. I send you gifts and letters to encourage you. No thank you’s or acknowledgment come. Then silence for many months until you hit rock bottom again; though I suspect you live close to that bottom. I was sorry for you at first but now have come to realize that as much as you hate the pain of your life, you can’t let it go either. You need to be a victim, you can’t see yourself in any other way. Life won’t change for you, dear Jane, until you can see yourself differently.
I want to fix it for you, Jane. I do. My prayers, encouragement, and advice have fallen on deaf ears. There’s nothing else I can do – I see that I can’t help you.
Guilt comes and goes as I wonder what compassion looks like. If I can’t help, how can I be there for you without being pulled into your darkness?
I can’t go there. The darkness. I was there for too long.
For me, when trouble comes, I walk through it but I never stall out and stay there. If you ever want help to walk out of the darkness, I will be the first to be there, to help. But I can’t stand or sit in that darkness, it’s like poison.
A text from you today was all about your darkness. Nothing else. Not:
- How are you?
- Thank you for your long letter.
- I’m struggling today, how do I get out?
- How’s your family?
…no, just darkness and your desire for me to wallow in your darkness. I can’t Jane. I’m so sorry. I will pull you out of the darkness but I won’t meet you there.
This is what I will do for you: I’ll keep sending letters and inviting you out of the darkness and into the light. That is how I can love you.
Until next time…