I know we all fail from time to time, but failure is hard for me to accept. Some failures had positive results, like the time when I lied in a parent meeting about what I said to the student; the student and I ended up respecting and liking one another. The worst failure of my life, to date, is ruining my friendship with Shannon.
When Shannon and I met, she had just graduated from high school while I had just completed my first year of college. We were working in a burger joint called “Round the Corner,” and I was told to train her. Frankly, I didn’t like her. She acted like she was tough, she smoked cigarettes, and I didn’t think she was very nice. However, as she was going to attend Metro State, and I was already attending Metro State, and we lived a couple blocks apart, it made sense to carpool together.
All the time we spent in the car and on campus together allowed us to become like sisters. To this day, I still consider her my sister. Shannon was dating a guy I didn’t like, a guy she ended up marrying. He’s a pompous asshole; a recovering druggie and smoker who found God and devotes as much time to God as he did to drugs and smoking. He also barely graduated from high school, and he’s a registered Republican. Not that I have problems with Republicans, just assholes like him.
Shannon and I were inseparable; she was daring while I was safe. She smoked and drank and did drugs, while I did none of those. She was living with her boyfriend and having sex. I lived at home like a nun. She was on birth control pills. Not me. She listened to hair bands and could do her make-up and hair like them. I had a bob and listened to all sorts of music. We were definitely opposites.
When we worked together, even if we were fighting, we were amazing together. No one could run the front counter like we could. No one could talk as fast as we could, no one fought like we fought.
Fast-forward a number of years; she and Chris married, had a baby boy and later a girl. I finally married, had a baby boy. Shannon was with me when I was on bed-rest, caring for me and helping me out.
None of this is failure, right?
Until I decided I couldn’t be friends with her anymore.
That was my failure.
Her husband Chris would call her repeatedly when she and I would get together; he didn’t like us being friends. We’d make plans, and Chris would make her cancel with me because he had to do something else. She was depressed, I was depressed, and I couldn’t cope with both our depressions.
Then I went back to grad school and work. We hardly had time with one another. She lived in Castle Rock, I lived in Denver. But her husband, the asshole, made it hard for her to see me.
One night, we had dinner together, and she sat in my car crying because she felt her husband had taken her identity. She didn’t know who she was anymore. If he couldn’t reach her on her cell phone, he would call mine. He must have called a dozen times that night.
Finally, working full time, going to grad school, new mother, fighting with my husband, struggling with my parents, I was done. I had to eliminate some stress from my life, and I realized I wasn’t being a good friend to Shannon.
So I wrote a letter, taking the chicken-shit way out. I told her that I loved her and she was my sister, but I couldn’t stand her husband any longer. I broke off our friendship.
I failed her. I failed us.
Our relationship is irreparable. And it’s my fault.
I have never had another friend like Shannon. I may never have another friend like Shannon.
I lost a terrific friendship because I couldn’t stand her husband. I have also learned that I can fail at something that I will regret for the rest of my life. And finally, I have learned that I can never go back again. Sometimes, although I might be forgiven for my stupidity, there’s no return.
I miss Shannon every day. I think about her frequently. I wish I could go back with the knowledge I have now and NOT send that letter.
