Friendship In Crisis

Grief affects our friendships, sometimes like ripples in the water from a carelessly tossed pebble, sometimes like a tsunami. The worst part is how we can’t ever really predict how relationships will weather the storm.

Without warning, one of my closest friends and I were on opposite sides of a wide chasm for twelve incredibly long weeks. So far apart we could barely hear each other. The person who has seen me at my best and worst and still chooses me. We solve problems; it’s who we are in a friendship built on years of common goals and camaraderie. So when our state shut down with no clear end in sight, I assumed whatever happened next would be just another problem we’d solve together.

The thing is, we had vastly different grief languages. I needed evidence that the heartbreak I felt was mutual; that I, and the friendship, mattered. My friend needed stoicism, reassurance that we would be fine on the other side of whatever this was, for me to hold space without holding him accountable for my big emotions.

In retrospect, continuing to show up for each other under extreme stress, even empty-handed, underscores the strength of our friendship. The kind of strength that predicts longevity. We did the best we could, there is no blame to be placed or assumed. The greatest challenge of maintaining a meaningful friendship is continuing to choose each other, even through all the hard parts.

I also ended up with an unexpected new friend during the shutdown. As professional acquaintances we enjoyed each other’s company a few times a year and collaborated on some projects, one of which had recently failed so spectacularly that we’d started texting every day. At first as the pandemic progressed it was still mostly about the work but soon we were talking about more personal things: fear of an uncertain future and a shared inexplicable crush on our governor. I started looking forward to our daily stream-of-consciousness texts: here’s a blueberry lemon curd muffin recipe, we’re strong like a Kelly Clarkson song, you’re pretty. Her trauma-brain mirrored my own. We spoke the same grief language so I didn’t need reassurance from her. Our mutual anxiety and affection were obvious, cards all face-up on the table, nothing more to discuss.

Forging adult friendships is hard to begin with and gets even trickier in a crisis with all the raw emotions and visceral reactions. Some of us need to compartmentalize our fear and wait it out; others, like me, need to talk through our fear. Neither reaction is wrong. Our challenge is to offer up whatever comfort we can to our people even when our trauma brains trick us into feeling like we’re too far apart.

Next time – and there will certainly be a next time even if the crisis has a different name – I hope I have the presence of mind to meet the people I love where they are, without expectations for where I wish we all could be.