The Puzzling Death of an Old Friendship

Slow ghosting cruelty and radio silence from afar

I don’t know what happened to our friendship, which, now that I consider it, rested on shaky sands from the beginning.

I knew she liked couples activities, usually eating out and watching a film, alternating houses about every six weeks or so.

Beyond that, the four of us once played mini-golf together and I recall going out to the movies a handful of times.

I met her when I was nearing 40 and she 60, and the four of us saw each other regularly until they moved, over a decade later.

I visited them when they set up house in Northern California, making a long solo drive from Arizona to Cali. The trio, sans my husband, went on a hike. I stayed three nights, and she made a special breakfast.

They eventually returned to Arizona several years later because, despite the endless hiking paths and wilderness and novelty, she didn’t like the culture there.

When we decided to move east, they didn’t encourage us. She queried us over dinner about why we would consider moving. We were doing exactly what they had done!

My husband was never able to establish an independent friendship with her husband, but over 60 that’s not so easy for men. To some degree, my friendship with her bent to her wishes. When I tried to initiate activities with just the two of us or arrange dinners more frequently, my gestures fell flat.

We were into hiking and so were they, but despite several attempts, we could never get them to join us on a hike in nearly 20 years of friendship.

The Correspondence

The heart of our friendship, she and I, has been emailing each other and keeping up on life events, large and small. She initiated that and I responded enthusiastically. Between foursome visits, we exchanged emails about every month or so and nowadays, we get caught up every two months.

I know all about her relationship with her sister, her health struggles, her pride in her daughter, and her resentment of her son-in-law.

The frequency of contact was set by her; I would’ve been happy to schedule events every four weeks, but it didn’t happen.

Then she got diagnosed with cancer, and we didn’t see her for a year. The simple explanation is she became a hermit, but she saw other friends.

Just not us, and especially not me. Try as I might to offer comfort, I was shut out from being there for her. She would email me, but wouldn’t schedule time together. Because she continued seeing other friends, this felt personal.

We shared intimate life details via email, and that’s continued now that we’ve lived apart for four years.

A year ago, I drove by myself back to Arizona to visit friends and family for ten days.

I couldn’t get her to commit to a visit. She gave no specific reason. I offered any scenario, including just dropping by for a half hour.

I ended up chatting with them for about an hour at their place, after confronting her via email about her strange elusiveness. She is not in good health, felled by moderate to severe osteoporosis, and stooped over. She is 75 now; I am 56.

Could aging not-so-gracefully be the reason that, despite regular communication, about every six weeks — she had no interest in getting a visit from an old friend?

I tried to forget about it as I visited other people who seemed to welcome me. In the back of my mind, I was like a dog with a bone: why is she ghosting me from afar?

Winter Is Coming

My husband and I are traveling this winter to see friends and family in Arizona. We are staying the entire month of January. I was greeted by a yawning silence when I mentioned this to my friend.

She has said nothing. I casually re-mentioned it in the context of a slight change in plans — silence.

She sees other friends and acquaintances and travels out of state for months each summer to see her grown daughter and son-in-law.

There has been no rift, so I’m at a loss.

That’s the trouble with ghosting. You feel inadequate, and don’t know why. You aren’t given the opportunity to fix it. It’s like being arrested and not told the nature of your crime.

Before we leave, in late December, maybe I’ll mention our trip again in an email:

“We are staying at an Airbnb in town from January 1 through the end of the month, then going to Sedona for a few days on Feb 1. It would be great to see you two!”

Or maybe I won’t, because I’ve already been clear about our plans, and normally when you hear that an old friend is coming to visit, it’s a special feeling of celebrating the past and the friendship.

Normally, you ask for details, and sometimes even make plans ahead of time so you can prioritize seeing old friends.

Normally, the response is: cool — let’s have dinner like we used to!

I mean, if you like the person, right?

Who doesn’t enjoy rekindling an old friendship, where good times were had?

Haunted by a Bitter Mystery

Her lack of interest is a mystery and not in a fun, stay-indoors-and-read-Agatha Christie kind of way on a cold, stormy night.

It reminds me more of true crime shows like Vanished or Disappeared — where the lack of resolution leaves everyone unable to let go and move on.

I chalk it up to her illness and a weird competitiveness with me. She’s never been supportive of my writing, despite knowing how important it is to me and having written a blog herself for a while.

She’s not a person who celebrates other people’s success, in general, unless it’s her daughter.

It’s odd and unsettling but the worst aspect is it makes me question the entire friendship.

We have plenty of other people to see in Arizona, but my inability to make sense of this gnaws at me, so I think I should not mention it again — we’re coming your way for the holidays.

I once learned it’s best not to chase someone else, because it erodes your self-respect.

I think I should cut ties and bow out.

I’ve asked her before what the issue is and I can’t get a straight answer beyond, I don’t feel well. She goes out with others, travels, and maintains letter-writing.

It’s as if she doesn’t want to be seen in flesh-and-blood form, and it feels like a friendship is a malevolent ghost that will forever haunt me.

My old friend has vanished, like a victim of an unsolved crime, and I’m left scratching my head and grieving someone, wondering what happened.

It’s not her I’m grieving, it’s the special status of an old friend, a commodity that cannot be replaced quickly or easily.

Thankfully, I’m not a crime victim — but I need to accept I won’t get answers about why this friendship vanished without a trace, under mysterious circumstances.