A Dutch study found that most friendships last 7 years. I found this shocking at first because I have always had a rich social life. Then I remembered how many people I have held in my heart, but eventually lost actual contact with over the years. I have 2 people who are still dear friends that I have known since 1st grade. A couple friends from middle school. A handful of friends leftover from high school and college. The rest live in my current Colorado community. There were 125 people at my wedding 12 years ago that I considered near and dear. A fair portion of those people I haven’t seen since that day. The simple reality is that most close relationships continue to grow and deepen because of proximity.

If I think about those close friends from my past, I have nothing but positive thoughts and wish them well from the depths of my heart. In fact, I assume by default that they are all doing well. I know from occasional texts and social media that many have gone on to have kids they adore, happy marriages, fulfilling careers, and great travel adventures. But I know everyone has their struggles in life. Heck, right before I finally started taking meds that helped immensely for depression, my buddy told me that he thought I was one of the happiest people he knows. I laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of how little we know of each other's inner worlds.

This week, I kept thinking about Peter. He was a friend in high school and another person who passed through my life for a period of time, that I assumed was thriving and surviving. He was extremely smart and had a wickedly funny sense of humor. I liked spending time with him. I badgered him into trying out for some of the high school theatre productions and was impressed with how easily he could memorize his lines of Shakespeare. He wrote a bawdy poem about us that embarrassed me at the time as a teenager, but that I now find incredibly funny and endearing. How many people have gifted me an original poem over the years? Not many. That was something special.

A fellow high school graduate announced his passing last year. It was a suicide. I hadn’t talked to Peter in over 20 years. Yet I kept thinking that if only I had known of his challenges, reached out and said something nice, that I could have somehow cut through the bindings that were dragging him down. But I know that it's just not that simple with major depression. Those still closest to him tried their best to help and I feel so much heartache for those left behind. Now I want his name to be remembered. I wish he knew that he mattered. That he was seen. The sad reality is that it’s too late for that now.

It is odd that we so often hold back sharing what is in our heart and head until someone is gone. A kind word never goes unnoticed. So, I find myself randomly reaching out to others. Just to say something a little deeper than typical surface-level correspondence. A message or note that highlights their best qualities. To let them have a little light if they are in a dark place. I hope it makes a difference. Even just for one more day.