Lives lived, and the fallout

My longtime friend S died a couple of weeks ago but I only heard about it last Thursday night. I had called her house the week before and left a message but there was no response, so I called again last week and her husband M answered the phone with "Oh dear." S had given him a list of people to call after her death and I was near the top of the list, but obviously he hadn't called. Not that I blame him, there are priorities and there are priorities. But we talked for about an hour, reminiscing, him describing her last days and how it affected him, where he was at now, so on and so forth. We both said we'd keep in touch, who knows if we actually do.

I met S in first year university, 55 years ago. We became close friends but at the end of the year I went to France and she returned home to Eastern Ontario. Our relationship continued but in an off/on sort of way. After losing track of each other for several years she and her new husband showed up at my doorstep late at night, when my husband and I were living in an off-grid log cabin back of beyond in the mountains of BC. Quite a piece of detective work to track us down! They only stayed the one day, we spent the time playing catch-up. Then they were off and I didn't see or hear from her for several more years. We had a chance meeting on the street in small town Nova Scotia. She and M were visiting someone who had recently moved here from Montreal. Again, they were only around for a few days and then off again. I didn't reconnect with her until two decades later, in Vancouver. S and M had moved there after our first meetup in the mountains of BC, and I moved back there in the early '90s. By then we both had 2/3 boy children, some of whom still lived at home.

I am not sure what drew us together, I certainly was fascinated with how different she was from anyone I had met before and god only knows what drew her to me. Perhaps it was just my persistence. That first year at university we both lived in residence and it was a tumultuous year for both of us. As I recall we did a lot of drinking to excess; first year away from home and all that.

There was a period of time in the late '90s when she stopped returning my calls, she told me much later that she disapproved of my lifestyle then. She was raised as a devout Baptist with a strict moral code that she herself was trying to break through, but there were just certain things she couldn't wrap her head around. Myself there were times when I had had enough of her stuff as well, so when she stopped returning calls I just moved on. It only lasted a few years, then we were visiting back and forth again since we only lived a few kilometers apart.

At the beginning of the pandemic when everything was in lockdown I started calling distant friends—including S—that I hadn't seen or talked to in years. She was ill. Her illness was ultimately fatal, she'd had it for a long time but was unable to get it diagnosed let alone treated, until it was too late. So I started having regular calls with her, maybe every other month or so. I'm not good at long distance phone relationships. But our calls often lasted for a couple of hours. Mostly I listened; she said she enjoyed talking to me because I didn't judge. It's true, no matter how much we might disagree I felt that at this point it was better to let it go. And the person on the deathbed gets first dibs on airtime.

The last time I talked to her was just before Christmas, she asked me to call her on Christmas Day because she was concerned about me being alone then. But I wasn't alone and I didn't call. She had as many family members present as she could possibly pack in because she knew this was her last Christmas. I should have called in January, but for a variety of reasons I put it off. When I finally called it was too late. I am glad I got to have a good conversation with M though. The odd thing is, since that call I have been having conversations with S in my head. She seems as present as when we both lived in Vancouver. Last night I watched a couple of documentaries about a guy who nurses sick eagles back to health and then releases them. This morning I've been telling S all about it, since I know she loves eagles. And wolves.

In a way, I have always been envious of her, she had the life that I wanted. She got to do a lot of things I wished I could do. But one night shortly before I moved away from Vancouver, she had driven me home and we were sitting in the car talking. She just poured out all her regrets in life up to that point. She felt that she had made some bad choices and as a result missed out on the life she really had wanted. It's kind of a weird moment when the person who is living the life you thought you wanted is expressing that kind of regret to you. Is this a thing? Do we all regret the life unlived?

I've seen inspirational talks by people who say they are living exactly the life they wanted ("and you can too!"). Last night I watched a trailer for a Brene Brown talk saying more or less that. Her prescription? Courage to be vulnerable. I think it is easy to say that sort of thing in retrospect, but it seems to me that in the moment there are constant choices you have to make that open one door and close another, and you just can't see into the future the unexpected consequences that will shape your life. In my own life I can't really say that the pivotal choices I made had anything to do with courage or the lack thereof. More like, you play the hand you're dealt as best you can.