9 May 2012

I miss my friend(s).

Image source: readinasinglesitting.com
I have been planning my wedding for some time now, and in two months, I will be walking down the aisle. The planning has for the most part been ok, with a few stressful moment here and there. Nothing that deep-breathing and a night of hard drinking can't solve.  I can't wait for the day to arrive, when I marry the man that I love, and we start our little humble life together.

And while plans are coming along, and things are falling into place, there is a small part of me that is sad. Two people will not be part of my celebrations.  I loved both deeply. I felt connected to both deeply. But because of reasons I can't control, or won't control, neither will be there.

Wendy was a dear friend that I met through my fiance. She was the wife of his best friend. She wasn't going to wait for dear fiance to introduce us. She took the bull by the horns, found me on Facebook, introduced herself, and immediately made plans for us to hang out - regardless of whether it was good for my fiance or her husband (and that didn't really change after we met... ha ha!).

She was warm, loving, awesome, funny, lovable, trustworthy....everything you could want in a friend. When the time came to plan my wedding, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that she was going to be a bridesmaid. And when I did ask, we cried (the happy tears) and I told her she was one of my best friends, and she said the same back. Then, just when things were getting to a point where we were in sync, where we could read each others minds and finish each others sentances, she was cruelly taken away from me. On September 30th, 2011, she passed away suddenly.

My heart broke (and is still fractured) that day. It's slowly started to heal, but I live in a world of constant reminders of her. The bright golden rod sun. The lady bugs flying by. A song by Sting on the radio. I really miss her in those moments when I am planning my wedding, overwhelmed with choices and emotions, and I don't have my rock to support me.

But there is nothing I can do. I have to accept that she will be there in spirit, and most importantly, I will have to be o.k. with that.

Samia was a dear friend that I met when I started working at Safeway back in 1995, fresh out of high school. We both started work on the same day, me as a cashier, she as a florist. We pretty much hit it off right from the get-go, but it wasn't until the Safeway strike of 1998 that our friendship really took off. It was also the time that her mother died, and I spent so much time going over to her place, being a rock to lean off, that I practically lived there!

Our time together was so much fun. We would check-out guys together while working (a term I use loosely). We would confide in each other. She would teach me how to make certain types of Lebenese foods. I would pass along gossipy news about co-workers. We shared our feelings, our emotions, our fears. I would go to weddings of her family members, because I was part of the family. We laughed (a lot). We did the craziest shit together.

In many ways, what was great about Samia is that she was my friend that I didn't have to share with anybody. Almost all of my friends know each other (from junior and senior high), so even if you are really close with one person, you still have to share them with others. But with Samia, she was my friend that was independant from the others. And I told her things that I just couldn't tell others. We had a bond that was strong.

Unfortuneately, my life path was very much different from hers. Our education was different (highschool with some floral certificate courses vs. university). Our cultural expectations were different (the expectation to be a wife/mother vs. the expectation to be a career woman). And as we both were growing, it started to become harder to overlook those differences. If that wasn't strenuous enough, I was going through emotional and financial difficulties which made me sometimes withdrawn or stressed or depressed. I just simply couldn't meet her emotional needs or expectations as a friend.

So we would fight. At first it was just little petty arguments. With our similar mindset and similar argumentative style, it was easy to have a big blow-out. Through the hardships of her own growing up, she wasn't exactly a forgiving person (in the sense of reaching out first). A few months would go by, and then I would call her up. We would hash it out, and things would be better (another term I use loosely). We made vows that we would talk out our issues before they got out of control.

Then the fights started escalating to deeper, more intense - but infinately more petty - arguments and misunderstandings. The time before last, I called her up after 1.5 years, and at that point, she had lost all her weight, but my situation was getting worse (work was beyond stressful, life was just piling up, my emotions all over the place).  So while her expectations of what she needed in a friend changed, mine got more demanding, but I was less giving.

Our last big fight was in 2008. I was having a busy, stressful month at work.  I wasn't necessarily returning calls right away. Things were spiralling out of control. Work was affecting my life, my mood, my emotion, my relationships. She called one day, but I didn't get the message. In the meantime, I called her once quickly at work, but someone else answered, and clearly, had not passed on the message. One day, I was having a particularly rough day, and I checked my phone messages. And she had bascially yelled me out, with a few choice names, for not returning her call after two weeks. Clearly, there was misunderstandings, missed calls, miscommunication - and our vow to patch things out went out the window.

I was pissed off, angry, hurt. I was done. 

So there you be. It's been four years now. Four years of me almost picking up the phone. Once I messaged her sister through Facebook, but it wasn't a genuine apology because I was still in a place of hurt. Since then, I have grown. Spiritually. Emotionally. Mentally. Things are right now. There is still the part of me that misses Samia, especially when times are tough. Living in the north end of town near "little Lebanon", it is hard not to be reminded of her. But I am doubtful that things would change if we were to reconnect. And I am certain that we both have changed so much that it wouldn't be the same anyways.

In a prefect world, if life had worked out as it should have, both Wendy and Samia would be an integral part of my day, and my life. 

I miss my friends. One I will never get a chance to say I love you again, and the other I just don't see the opportunity to say so happening.