Dear Lorna, Not Who I Thought You Were

Dear Lorna, Not Who I Thought You Were: I resign this UN-friendship.

The CRUX:

I was never your go-to, just your sometimes, nothing-better-to-do sidekick. In the early years, we cooked together and talked about garden plants and homemade baby food. Beach get-togethers in spring proved too cold for me, but we liked hiking in the mountains in the summer. So many fun times are shadowed by the times you imbibed too hard and said such ugly things. In the beginning, I defended you. Later, I could no longer do it, with so much evidence slapping me in the face. I didn't know you when you were young, and I can't speak to why alcohol overcame you. It was unpleasant to see and ruined many times that would have been fun.

You didn't show up for our new housewarming on my birthday. But then, you never remembered my birthday anyway. It's okay. I know when yours is. I know that your best buddy will spend it with you. One year, your best buddy couldn't celebrate with you. I tried to cheer you up by sending flowers and a card, but received a clear message that I was only a poor substitute who didn't fit the bill in your eyes.

As our kids grew, the friendship waned. I resigned from always driving to visit you because the favor was rarely returned. Was that because you felt your house was more comfortable? It wasn't, you know. We were equal. I didn't tell you I resigned then, but I AM telling you now.

I resigned from making all the effort to drive twenty miles to visit. One time, I arrived at the pre-arranged time, and you weren't even home. We didn't have cell phones then, and I sat on your porch for an hour and a half, waiting. Finally, needing to relieve myself, I drove to the nearest McDonald's. Guess who was sitting in a booth eating French fries and a burger? Yeah, you! Alone. No kids. I was angry, surprised, and embarrassed. Did I get the time wrong? You said you forgot and to sit down and have a bite. I refused and left.

I resigned that day, too. You phoned the next day, but I saw your number on the caller ID and didn't pick up.

"Hey, it's me. I'm sorry about yesterday. I had a bad morning. I forgot you were coming. I'm sorry. Please call me."

Was her last sentence slurred?

When you divorced, you called me, and I hurried to you. Never did I lay blame on you, yet it was due to your drinking that your marriage crumbled. So often, the neighbors called Perry at work to tell him the kids were outside alone in their underwear, outside without shoes in the cold. Perry resigned from your marriage when counseling didn't work, and your drinking continued.

Slowly, I began to confront the reality that I couldn't continue to be subjected to your bipolar moods and drinking. You misconstrued much of my words, and no apologies were accepted. Your unhappiness probably caused the rift, but it was too large to breach by then, so I resigned. I didn't email you or call you; I withdrew totally.

I resign from the job of retrieving your drunken ass from bars and visiting you in the hospital. I resign from trying to calm down your ex-husband.

You counted on me to answer your calls, to counsel and calm you. You expected me to understand all your foibles, and for a while, I did.

One day, the state troopers called, saying I was the emergency contact. Really, Lorna? I'm your contact? "Ma'am, there is a three-car accident on the highway. Your friend Lorna McHenry is being taken to jail, and she asked that you come pick up her kids."

Damn, Lorna, my mouth hung open, and I couldn't speak to the trooper. I lost my voice for a minute, then shouted that I would get there immediately and asked for the mile marker. I arrived to find you in handcuffs, the front of your car smashed halfway through the hood. There was an overturned van with a man lying on the ground, saying he felt fine, while the paramedics looked him over. The kids were crying and ran to me while I showed my ID to the cop.

That was the final resignation. You understand, right?

I resign from your ignorant, selfish, and unmotherly behavior. I am no longer your go-to for advice or the backup for your lies. I am no longer the forgotten appointment, the beating board, the social drinking partner. Selfishness and booze consume you.

I always picked up the phone, ready to talk or help with your questions, dilemmas, or indecision. I provided encouragement and advice on conversing with your physician and exploring various medicines and herbs. I went with you to AA meetings. There is hope for you and your kids, and hope for you shimmers outward from me.

Still, I resign from your world. I resign from this sad, unfulfilling UN-friendship. You go alone now. Our paths diverge. Walk toward the hope, Lorna, because I have resigned. You no longer have me.

Your actions proved you are not a friend. Don't blame the liquor. Choices were made.

My choice is to resign from you. My rearview no longer reflects you.

TheAcquaintanceWhoThoughtYouWereHerFriend,

AC

Copyright © 5/20/25 by Andrea O. Corwin

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