A year ago one of my best friends from childhood had a heart attack. She was young, healthy, didn’t do drugs, and had no family history of heart disease. It didn’t make sense. One moment she was training for a marathon, the next she was lying on the ground with no vital signs. Though she’s a petite girl she was always the toughest of our gang, and, true to form, she miraculously survived.
When we were young, all we had was time. Though we loved each other, we both couldn’t wait to leave our small town and explore the world. I suppose, while trying to discover myself, I’d inadvertently loosened my hold on our friendship. Only when I almost lost her permanently did I realize that I hadn’t been cultivating our relationship for some time.
She didn’t call me back, so I stopped reaching out to her. We lived three thousand miles away from each other. I had a family of my own and a full-on career; I just didn’t have the time anymore. We were different people now. The list of excuses continued…
The truth is, somewhere along the way I let go.
I messed up, big time. Even so, she invited me to stay with her a few weeks ago. We reminisced about old times, and, well, the new times ahead of us that seemed more precious than they ever had.
Now that we have a second chance, I’m going to hold on. I’m holding on to all of the people that I love, to the irreplaceable relationships that make life so dynamic. I’m shouting out to them, “Hey there, I appreciate you. The world is better because you are in it. I love you.”
I’m holding on tightly. And this time, I sure as hell won’t let go.