Los Angeles, California
I am a Sarah McLachlan fan. Though previously aware of her, I dug more deeply into her music about fifteen years ago. In a marriage increasingly lacking the emotional intimacy I craved, I found her music and lyrics provided a place to go where I could imagine having what was profoundly missing in my life. It was a time of searching. I had already found salsa dancing which brought much needed joy to me (I smiled after writing that sentence, because while learning salsa dance I also met my salsa amiga, who is named Joy!), and I created this blog so I had a place to write.
But this post isn't about flogging the failed marriage nor about the relationship I found afterwards which provides a great deal of what was missing, but rather about Sarah's song: Adia. Last night I attended Sarah McLachlan's concert at The Hollywood Bowl. It was a night reminiscent of attending Paul Simon's concert there during his farewell tour in late May 2018; an overcast night which can be perfect at The Bowl. What was different was that instead of having Joel by my side, we were a group of four women friends, a congregation that is perfect for a night of Sarah's music. We had dinner at The Backyard, sharing small plates and the requisite bread and wine. I am committed to the principle that, if you are going as a congregation, you've got to break bread together.
I could provide a review of the stellar concert here, including a lot of unexpected tears through the whole of I Will Remember You, as well as the joy of singing Ice Cream live instead of singing along with that cut on her live album, Mirrorball. Instead, I'm going to segue into the space I traveled after Sarah's explanation of the song, Adia. As she introduced it, she confessed that she had once done a terrible thing. She had fallen in love with her best friend's ex. And that act caused a fracture in the friendship they shared. As it would. As she was singing the song, I remembered that I had always wondered what that song was about. And, with her illumination, I got that song in a way I never had before.
Fractures in friendships can be devastating. Or not. I've experienced a few, including one recently. But none of them held the profundity of separating from my friend, Cin. We had met at the university where I had recently graduated and joined staff. Cin was a student assistant in the Student Union building where I worked. She held a morning shift on a few days of the week, coming in at 7:00 AM to work the information desk adjacent to my office. When I arrived at 8:00, she was the friendly face that greeted me and we quickly became friends. I married my husband shortly after, and Cin and her boyfriend became our closest couples friends. We even went camping together (don't ask).
So much followed in our shared lives: their marriage; home purchases for us both; Saturday morning classes at Jane Fonda's Workout followed by lunch and shopping at The Gap; health scares; marital problems, her divorce and remarriage; loss of her mother and my father. Throughout it all we marveled at the shorthand we shared. We seemed to mirror each other in tastes, opinions, and how we supported each other… and in those shopping experiences. As we later moved from The Gap to Banana Republic and Ann Taylor, one of us would hold up a piece of apparel and ask: Do we like this? We often bought the same items, though sometimes in different colors flagging a slight independence in our shared taste. At those times, as well as in deep conversations about personal issues, it could seem as though we were of one mind. The comfort that we both felt in this unity perhaps insulated us from the knowledge that this kind of merging is both complicated and hazardous. Danger, Will Robinson! Life is a moguled course, and as time went on we weren't always navigating life’s bumps together, nor always in a compatible fashion. While I was working in the small business my husband and I had started; she had gone on to get an advanced degree, meeting new friends in her profession. I was confused and hurt when she didn't attend my father's funeral. With her career and new marriage, she had much less available time and struggled to understand why I wasn’t getting that. As we weren't able to replicate the previous couples relationship when she remarried, we each increasingly socialized in separate circles. In a nutshell, there were, as my husband used to say: tissues.
No matter the relationship, when there are sustained unmet expectations on either or both sides, and a subsequent perceived inequality of effort, it can and will falter. And that is what happened to us. We tried to navigate the conflict but ultimately agreed to take a break from our friendship. It was summertime, and one of us (guess who) poetically wrote that perhaps when the leaves start to turn we can revisit and work our way around what had become a roadblock. I recall writing at the time that I felt we had a friendship connection that was once-in-a-lifetime. In her response, agreeing to the time out, she had concurred. The leaves turned, but neither of us reached out.
Sarah said about the eighteen months when she was estranged from her best friend that it was the hardest break-up she has ever experienced. And I get that. I mourned the loss of this friendship like a death. In the course of that, I ruminated that I had been a true and generous friend to her. What had happened? But, as time passed, the hurt receded, and life went on. I reached out to old friends, and made new ones. I also learned through these friendships that there is a kind of 'gene' that women either have or don't have which allows us to form special bonds. Yes, it is ok and even fun to have friends who don't have it. We know them well. They are solely bonded with husbands, maybe their mothers, and/or their kids, which is good and as it should be for them. But there is a difference in those of us who are each a women's woman, as my friend, Lisa, puts it. After Cin's divorce, I had given her a refrigerator magnet that read: Marriages may come and go, but best friends are forever. We both appreciated that sentiment. Clearly, as does Sarah McLachlan.
During the time of hiatus, I welcomed a friendship that developed and became primary in my life at a time when I was grieving the deaths of my best friend (and namesake of this blog), Sandra, my mother, and my husband. Those three deaths occurring like dominos in the same calendar year. That friendship is with Lynnette, who I had known in a professional capacity for twenty years (she was my dentist!). I will always believe that God sent her to me when my need for her was great. While there was no dearth of girlfriendships, Lynnette and I quickly developed a unique closeness which continues to this day. Before she and her husband moved to the next county, we saw each other often, and spoke almost every day. During a bathroom remodel, she would drop by with baked goods which I shared with my contractor and workers. Now, with her living an hour away, we have frequent l-o-n-g phone conversations and try to schedule her coming to stay at my home for a weekend each month. Pre-pandemic, we traveled to Arizona for MLB Spring Training each year. Something we hope to reinstate in 2025. My friendship with Lynnette taught me a lot about how important friends can be in our lives when we are in grief or trauma. And it has brought more laughter (see post entitled: The Two O'Clock Miracle) into my life than I could ever imagine after all that had happened to me. Not having her in my life, for the rest of my life, is inconceivable.
So, when Cin reached out to me ten years after our break, I was dealing with a full plate of challenges as a widow and sole business proprietor, and spending my free time with Joel, Lynnette, and other friends. While I responded to the note she had sent me, I felt that it was too little and too late. As I later told her, my first thought was: What, did it take you ten years to miss me? But that brief exchange opened up a long-closed door for me, and each year as her birthday in January approached, I considered reaching out. And finally, five years later, I did. Sarah lost eighteen months with her friend. Cin and I lost fifteen years. And that is, indeed, a loss. But, with the passing of time came some friendship wisdom. And this reconnection has underscored my belief in something profound. At its core, my world is about connection. And I will never again give up on the people who hold value in my life. I am grateful for and blessed by these relationships. And appreciative in a way that I probably wasn't back twenty years ago when this all went down. Cin and I are each in a different place now. Our friendship isn't of the daily variety that it once was, and reuniting has required some understanding, adjustment and negotiation. But, we now hold a strengthening cord between us with the knowledge that anything can be severed. And it is our responsibility in truly valued friendships to protect that cord, so that does not happen.
Spending the evening, hearing Sarah's story and the wonder of her music, I felt grateful to be with three other girlfriends, and rather proud to have organized and funded the evening. I vowed to continue to make that effort to be generous, while appreciating what these women-with-the-gene bring to my life. I love Joel with all my heart. He is the most important person in my life. But without the strength and understanding; without the connection with these women, I could not survive.Yes, Ice Cream is about the man in my life; the lovers in our lives. We celebrated that by singing along... Your love is better than chocolate; Better than anything else that I've tried. But going forward, Adia will provide the reminder that we need to take care of our friendships. As, in the end, it will be these fristers who make the effort to be there for us, and the risk of their loss is reflected in Sarah's heartfelt, cautionary ballad exploring the challenges of self-reflection, and the lasting impact of true friendship.
