I lost something precious to me this week. I lost a friendship. It seems strange to write that—to call it a loss, especially since I’m the one who chose to end it. Yet it’s still a loss—a significant absence, a profound emptiness, a deep sorrow.
In her poem “One Art,” Elizabeth Bishop talks about loss. She begins by talking about the loss of trivial items like keys and a watch, then moves on to the loss of bigger items—houses, cities, and, finally, a relationship. She tells her readers to practice the art of losing small things so that when the big losses come, they won’t seem like a disaster:
“The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster. . .
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.”
Bishop knew that the loss of a relationship wasn’t trivial, though she tried to convince herself and her readers that it was. She also knew that practicing loss didn’t make it any easier or less of a “disaster.” The loss of my friendship wasn’t a disaster, though at first it felt like it. But as I said, I’m the one who ended it. I knew that it needed to be done before either of us experienced more hurt. I’ve gone over it a million times, questioning what went wrong and what I could have done differently. I’ve wrestled with those questions and asked God for answers. Again and again, He’s answered me with the same sentence: Let it be. So I’m choosing to do that—to lay it down. Let it be. And let it go.
I’m not particularly skilled at the art of losing, and I’m not very good at letting go of my need for answers and accepting discomfort and unrest. But if that’s what God’s asking me to do in this situation, I will. I know myself too well to trust my own answers right now. I know my usual tendency would be to let this wound me so deeply that it would be impossible to move forward. Or I would use it to prove to myself that I’m not worthy of friendship. That I shouldn’t let people in—that I should retreat from risking love because it hurts too much when it ends. Or I could choose to do it God’s way this time and simply let it be. I can close the book on this friendship in the same way I would an actual book. I can close it and hug it to my chest, savoring the essence of it. I can think about the reasons I loved it, then choose a place of honor for it on one of my many shelves. A place where I can see it often and remember the joy it brought me during the time I spent with it.
That’s what I’m choosing to do. I’m choosing to close the book on this friendship and move on. But not without learning from it. I asked God to make the lessons of this friendship clear to me. This friendship was a gift from Him, and I wanted to honor that by learning from it. And I did learn from it. I learned about love across age and distance. About recognizing my worth and using my voice. And I learned that some relationships are only meant to last for a season. When that season is over, it’s time to let go and walk away with dignity, grateful for the ways that the friendship met both of our needs while it lasted.
Another poet, Rudyard Kipling, gave me some helpful perspective on this. In his poem, “If,” he writes a long list of “ifs,” then concludes with “Yours is the earth and everything that’s in it, and—which is more—you’ll be a man, my son!” In other words, if you can do this action or experience this feeling, you’ll have grown and evolved and found something to be grateful for. This stanza is the one I keep coming back to:
“If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools.”
For a long time, I gave much of my life to this friendship. So did my friend. And now the friendship is broken. But I’m not. I can bear this loss. I can pick up the tools Kipling wrote about and work on building new relationships. I can learn to trust myself more and need the opinion of others less. To protect my heart without putting up walls. To love my friend enough to remember the beauty of our friendship while it lasted and to do what’s right for both of us by walking away before it truly does become a disaster. She deserves that. She’s a beautiful person who I will always love and respect. But for maybe the first time in my life, I’m deciding that I deserve that, too. I’m worth that, too. I don’t think anyone ever masters the art of losing. But I’m working on seeing the loss for what it is—a grief but not a disaster. I’m giving myself permission to let go without second-guessing myself—without trying to fix what’s irreparable and make sense out of the insensible. To let it be. I can do that for her. And I can do it—finally, unapologetically—for me.
“We practice letting go. And in the process, we find peace.”Leo Babauta
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Comments 10
I understand how you feel right now, but there will be a lot more friends in your life. Friends come and go in our lives you will meet new friends, for sure God has plans. As your friend said “Raphah” let go! My mom drilled into head over and over when I was growing up “let go let God”, and she would add you need to get out of God’s way so he can work His will. I know you are sad now, but there will be a new plan from God going on in your life.
Grover
Grover–I’m letting go again and again. And learning lessons. I love what your mom said, “Get out of God’s way so He can work His will.” That needs to be my new motto. Thank you for your encouragement. It means so much to me. I’m grateful for friends like you who happen to be family, too. ❤
Really wonderful post and an eye-opening way to look at lost friendships. I like the thinking of it being a book on a shelf that you are not ashamed of or hurt over, but rather something that is still treasured and a wonderful part of a time in your life. Love you!
Monty–how do you always leave me at a loss for words? ❤
Thank you, friend. You’ve once again touched a sore spot in my own heart. A difficulty in letting go due to the fact it involves a family member who has chosen a destructive path, and leaves multiple levels of debris in their wake. The expectation constantly overarching the situation that “family” gets a free pass and unlimited mulligans as their behavior fails to change and continues to widen the chasm. Yet for my own protection I know there must be an end, in some form. I need to release it and stop picking up pieces. Raphah. Beautiful word. Full of such release. Amazing that the verse I have claimed when dealing with this person is Exodus 14:14 “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
May we both feel the freedom to move on. Look back fondly on good times and be thankful for great lessons.
❤️
Lisa–I’m sorry you’re dealing with this. It is so hard. But as you said, there comes a point in certain relationships when you have to protect yourself and end what has become toxic and so painful. I like your word “release.” It makes me think of surrender–and I learned in recovery long ago that surrender is a lifelong process. Release, for me, will be a process, too–of going to God every time I’m tempted to ruminate and brood and wonder. And He’ll tell me again to release it, let it go, let it be. Thank you for the reminder of that beautiful verse. And thank you for your thoughtful, insightful comment. ❤
Good morning Sparrow. Digesting this Blog, we all experience loss of somemid, during our,Iives. As a young boy, Baeball card collecting,asTeenager the’45 records. Many, lost on my way they life. But, the seriousness of losing a close, good friend. Pretty tough pill to swallow. Don’t beat yourself up, like you said, treat it like a book, put on the bookcase, look at the cover from time to time. But, the hurt that you have experienced, do not open it, to re-read , your personal memories of this broken friendship. It was a good moment in your life. Now, Yiu will move on,each day, morenew riendshios, some casual, some very solid friendships. I guess, in my years, I have been very lucky, when some of my closest friends could of “kicked me to the curb”, they were, and there are. Only a 1 hand full of my closest friends, they “hung in” with me. Putting up with silly statements, crazy deeds, etc. So, Sparrow do t let this loss of a friendship be an “Anvil” you are”lugging around”. A Bob Seger song, “Turn The Page”, pretty much describes my attitudes. Also, your selection of one ifmy Beatle’s favorites, “Let it Be”, two perfect songs for today’s blog. Sparrow,Stand on your own”. You are one of the strongest friends I know, I meant at from the bottom of my heart. Finally, that Jewish Word, Raphah, a great word. My very close friend, Jon, who hapens to have been my boss and friend, I will “dazzle” him with this word, this Wednesday, as he and are go to lunch, From time to time e, he dazzles me with his abilities in the Jewish language. Again, no clue what I would write here, but, again, you have “opened” a new part of my thought and vocabuatpry engine. God Bless and care of you. Great Blog……❤️TexGen
TexGen–excellent advice to keep the book closed and not reread it. I do have good memories of this friendship–but I need to keep that book closed. I certainly don’t see myself as strong, but thank you so much for saying that. I look forward to hearing how you dazzle your friend. That’s my sister who mentioned “Raphah.” Thank you for being my friend through the down times of this past week. I appreciate you and I appreciate your insights, as always. Thank you for your kind words.
Raphah – my new favorite word.
It is the Hebrew word that is used for Be Still in Psalm 46:10… and it means “to let go”.
It speaks more to me from the original language – Let Go and Know that God is God.
How tragic to be the one lost by you.
I love You.
Thank you so much for this beautiful insight. I love you dearly. ❤