I stood in a room full of strangers for 5 years; not that they were strangers. I knew them, as friends, as family, as loved ones. I spent time, effort and money; giving until I was blue in the face.
One day, I looked around and thought, "it's not enough".
I walked away; although I tried like mad to hold onto those I considered friends, eventually our clasped hands released and I was but a memory...like the scar from the skinned knee a child gets when he falls off his bike.
After almost 2-1/2 years, I still check on them from time to time. I still wonder how most of them are doing, how many kids they have, how old, who is pregnant, are they healthy, safe, happy...
So I send this out to them, not knowing if they "look me up" at all anymore...to let them know, I miss you. I wonder about you. I never stopped caring about any of you.
It's a shame I have to have some kind of closure...to people I keep trying to convince myself were strangers all along.
My mom told me once that when I reached "adult-hood" I would be able to count my good friends on one hand. Mom, you were right, again. I have 2 really close friends who I love to the ends of the earth and back...people who I would walk through fire for and am convinced would do the same; but I was convinced those strangers would as well.
Saddened, disheartened and only slightly bitter anymore...I've examined my scars to find they have helped make me who I am, only slightly more cautious to give myself over to honest and open friendships. I am strong and resilient and proud to have the few precious friends I do have; and I carry with me wisdom that should befit someone twice my age. I'm uplifted when I can help a friend, I feel proud when someone comes to me for advice. I've had a rough few years and at the time I never understood why. Now I can say, "I know, I've been there...it will be okay"; and I'll mean it.
Thanks to the strangers who have helped weave the tapestry of me.
