I Am a Good Friend (I swear…)
Marit and I have been exchanging communiques lately. This gave me a minor epiphany the other day.
I had a clinical prof say once that healthy grief can be seen as the repayment of a debt to the person you lose–that all the richness of emotions of being attached to someone can’t suddenly disappear when they die, and so you have to “pay it down” slowly until you get to a more manageable inner state with things.
One of my frustrations with Lucka, as I wrote, was not knowing how we’d done, Lisa and I, because we weren’t the kinds of friends we thought we should be. We didn’t see her. The fact that she didn’t want us to see her is beside the point – this is my idea of what friends do, not the concrete example of what that friend needs.
Coming up to see Anthony offers this sense that I am being a good friend, because I get to be a friend on the terms that I know and understand.
What happens when your friend asks you something alien? Not unethical, immoral, but like Lucka, counter to what you expect?
Did we become friends because of how I want to be with you? Has our friendship changed to where I can be what you need, not what I want?