For most of the past 15 years or so, I’ve kept in touch with a few close friends from my hometown of Pittsburgh via phone calls and an occasional email. Usually, we’d hear from each other around holidays, anniversaries and big life events.
For everyday conversations about the big and little things that happen all the time, I had my wife. My friends had their wives, partners and other friends.
When I lived in Pittsburgh and could see my friends, we were closer – naturally.
Then, in 2018, my wife was diagnosed with lung cancer. Phone calls with my friends became more frequent. Sometimes weekly, sometimes more often. As her disease progressed, the calls increased.
After she died, my friends spoke to me nearly every day. I was grieving and in bad shape. They did what good friends do – they stepped up to fill the hole in my life until I could move forward.
Over the past two years, as I settled into my current home and began rebuilding my life, our phone calls dropped to a few times a month. This frequency feels right.
Recently, I had similar conversations with two of my friends. Both thanked me for keeping in touch with them. They said:
- I was a calming presence
- Our calls helped them feel centered
- They appreciated our long history
- I helped them find perspective
- They admired my resilience and the life I had built
That was pretty nice to hear. It wasn’t necessary. I’ve felt the same about them at times (when I don’t want to throttle them!).
But it got me thinking.
And I realized, that I’ve become for them what my wife was for me. She was my anchor. She calmed me when I was upset. Talking to her made me feel centered and find perspective. We had history and trust.
Of course, she was wife for 29 years. My relationship with her is different and deeper than any other relationship I have or ever will have.
But it made me feel particularly special and honored when I realized that in some small way, I was embodying what was her true legacy – she made everyone feel this way.