Friendships Forged In Fire

I spent the July 4th holiday in the Adirondack Mountains with three old college friends, two of whom were like the brothers I wanted but never had.

We didn’t set off fireworks, go to a parade, or get drunk and shoot shotguns in the air like the men in my neighborhood did when I was a kid.

We took a hike, played bocce, watched rugby and a movie, and grilled bratwurst and cheeseburgers and tuna steaks over a fire pit. We also ate corn on the cob, asparagus, baguettes, bagels, and watermelon so juicy it ran down our faces.

Most of all, we talked.

Although I hadn’t seen two of these friends in 43 years, when we talked it was as if we’d never missed a day. I had seen the other friend, the one who pulled us all together, a few months earlier, and it was the same with him.

Four days removed from our weekend together, I’m thinking about how rewarding, reinvigorating, and relaxing it is to connect with old friends. Truly great friends. For me, it’s life-affirming and I can see how it should be a vital and ongoing piece of my recovery from trauma.

The thing is, I’m not very good at keeping up with my friends. I mean, 43 years is a long time to not see people you love. Careers, relationships, finances, family obligations, and mental and physical health challenges all get in the way.

Also, vanity and ego.

I weigh a lot more than I used to. I wince and groan when I get up and sit down. It’s an effort to walk up a trail that in the past I would have run up. The blond hair I used to have is mostly white, what’s left of it. I can’t see or hear as well as I used to—it seems every other word I say is “What?” I have an artificial knee, I’ve had two surgeries on my other knee, my shoulder has been surgically reconstructed, and I’ve got an assortment of scars and aches and pains from other surgeries and injuries, not to mention some serious medical conditions I have to manage. And I’m sure I’ve had enough psychotherapy to enable therapists to build second homes, buy frivolous sports cars, and eat caviar for breakfast.

But none of the physical and mental maladies I’ve cited mean anything to these friends, except to the extent they care about my well-being. And they’re dealing with many of the same challenges. Likewise, I only care about their well-being.

I know we’ll try to be better at seeing each other. I also know it will be hard, given all those obstacles in life I mentioned earlier. But I know we need each other.

After all, our friendships were forged in the fire of our youth. We come from a time in life that was instrumental in making us who we are today. Sure, we’ve changed, but in so doing I’m reminded of the cuts and bruises and learning and healing it took to get us this far. I’m especially reminded of our collective grit and determination, intellectual curiosity, ingenuity, empathy, and desire to help other people—the downtrodden and less fortunate, in particular.

These are great guys, and they are invaluable to me.