An Old Friend Looked Me Up
An old friend looked me up and sent an email with his family Xmas letter. I was excited to hear from him again after 16+ years. He enclosed his phone number. I called him and we had a great 20 minutes of non-stop talking. It seemed like old times. I was so glad to hear his voice again.
Then at the end of the conversation, he said that it would be better if his wife did not know that we spoke again. The reason they had broken off the friendship with me (and my husband as well, by the way) (16-ish years ago, remember) was because she was jealous of me.
First, I cannot have a friendship -- even with an old and dear friend -- and keep it secret from his wife. Unethical. Won't do it.
Second, why did he want to talk with me? He probably regretted the impulsive action as soon as he hit the send button. But before the regret, why did he want to hear from me?
If it was to hear me say that he was and is a great guy -- funny in a vinegar and salt kind of way, bright and insightful, a GOOD man, someone I would be proud to call a friend -- then consider it said.
Consider it said.
I'm just a little lonely from a second 'good-bye' after all this time.
Then at the end of the conversation, he said that it would be better if his wife did not know that we spoke again. The reason they had broken off the friendship with me (and my husband as well, by the way) (16-ish years ago, remember) was because she was jealous of me.
First, I cannot have a friendship -- even with an old and dear friend -- and keep it secret from his wife. Unethical. Won't do it.
Second, why did he want to talk with me? He probably regretted the impulsive action as soon as he hit the send button. But before the regret, why did he want to hear from me?
If it was to hear me say that he was and is a great guy -- funny in a vinegar and salt kind of way, bright and insightful, a GOOD man, someone I would be proud to call a friend -- then consider it said.
Consider it said.
I'm just a little lonely from a second 'good-bye' after all this time.
