Last night, I learned you had passed away. We met when I was brand new in recovery, and you already had eight years — a lifetime to me at the time. You welcomed me with kindness and that quirky sense of humor only you had. I could come to you with questions about recovery, and you always shared your truth. Over the years, you supported me — long after you left Atlanta.
Six months ago, you told me you wanted nothing to do with me because of our political differences. After nearly thirty years of friendship, I couldn’t believe it. I never stopped loving you. I never stopped hoping that one day you’d reach out and say our friendship mattered more than politics. Now, I know that can’t happen.
I’ve always been a little “out there,” but last night, while sitting in a recovery anniversary meeting, I suddenly felt your presence. It wasn’t your voice exactly, but I heard you say, “I’m sorry.” It brought me to tears. You said it again a couple more times before your spirit faded, while my tears kept flowing.
You’re the first person I’ve lost while our relationship was broken, and it’s hit me hard. But strangely, what I felt last night was the best I could have hoped for. It gave me a sense of peace — and a powerful lesson.
Even though you’re the only friend I’ve lost over politics, other relationships have ended for different reasons. I don’t ever want to feel this kind of regret again.
So, I’m making a list. A list of people no longer in my life — not to rekindle old friendships, but to thank them. I’ll reach out with a note, an email, or even a handwritten letter, just to acknowledge the time we shared. These relationships may have run their course, but that doesn’t make them less meaningful. I realize now I rarely said that out loud. Doing this will ensure that if anyone passes, I’ll know I did my part to let them know they mattered.
I’m sorry I never had the chance to do this with you. But even now, you’re teaching me something. Thank you for what you gave me — during your life and even after.
😇😇😇
Thank you…