Hanna Grass

College freshmen Mara Green (right) and Caroline Mann (left) embracing before they go off to school.

Friendships will be some of the most powerful relationships we as humans will experience. For adolescents especially, the connections we make as we mature, grow, make mistakes, and discover who we wish to become, resonate in an indescribable way.

It is true that blood runs thick, but love runs deeper, and the love I have built for my friends consumes me.

As I look back at years I have lived through, tragedies I have overcome, places I have resided, laughed, and cried, I realize that I am more of a complex person than I give myself credit for. I tend to internalize my faults and then proceed to use them as my identity rather than see myself as a human being: imperfect, unique, and worthy of love. I have come to this realization with the counsel of many friends I have gathered along my 17-year-long journey on this planet. With each person I let into my life, I let a burden burrowed within me fly free. These relationships I made while learning, reading, running, writing, and being unapologetically who I am, taught me to recognize what I desire in a partner. It taught me the type of person I hope to be for others, and inversely, what I do not wish to be.

But enough about my personal tribulations, for I can infer that most every reader of this article has experienced a friendship of some sort at least once in their life. You can fill in the blanks about the power of peers with your own friends and adventures undergone with them by your side. These idiosyncrasies of companionship are precisely what makes this phenomenon so incredibly special.

We are privileged to have hearts so large and open that allow us to love many. We are privileged to have minds so complex and manifold to store the memories made with such individuals. Friends are one of the few constants in my days that make life worthwhile. They remind me that I am okay, that I am loved, and that the hefty pains my soul carries will fade with time. These people bring me purpose, and although I live for myself, I always save a sliver of my being just for them; they remind me to be selfless.

The downside to forming friendships this close is the agony of saying goodbye. Boundaries between you two become as thin as lace, spider silk, or morning fog, and when the time comes to let them go, you hurt. You hurt heavily, heartily, and in some ways, this farewell hurts more than a romantic heartbreak.

For young women especially, friendships can metamorph into a sisterhood. These pals become your people, maybe even more so than your biological relatives. I know for me, the women and girls I have connected with throughout my adolescence know me on a level my parents never have and likely never will. This is a bittersweet truth, especially being an only child. I realize I subconsciously fill the void of having siblings growing up by attaching myself to my peers. As a result, when my family would relocate our home and lives to a new state, bidding adieu to my “sisters” sent me spiraling down the rabbit hole of grief. I grieved for the physical distance between us and I grieved for how that distance would become mental and emotional overtime. I mourned the fact that we had been girls together. We had been unabashedly ourselves as we whispered, screamed, giggled, and gossiped. I mourned, knowing those moments would be no more.

Such a cycle would irrefutably repeat each time I made a friend. We fell platonically in love, we lived, and then I was forced to leave; a moth drawn away from its flame. I would flap my little wings, fighting to fly back towards that friendly embrace, but life always had other plans.

Over time, I educated myself on healthy ways to cope with this sadness. I utilized social media and online communication to stay in touch. I jotted my thoughts down – wrote poetry and prose – in hope of finding a new friend in the characters I created or the scenes I set. In many ways, this worked. I learned to live with the fact that I would always have to leave those I loved, at some point or another, but never did I learn how to say goodbye when those I loved had to leave me.

This past summer, I had the unfortunate opportunity to say goodbye to one of my closest friends who was moving across the country to attend college. I was, and remain, so excited for the next few years of her life. I wish her beautiful things, for she brought me times of joy that I will never forget. I told myself that the distraction of my own school days would help, yet, even after nearly a month of her absence, my heart cannot fully grasp such reality. I am in denial of the fact that I no longer have the ability to simply walk down the street and fall into her embrace. It is a strange feeling, grieving someone who is still very much alive. She and I still communicate regularly, but a text, a call, a Facetime, they are not the same. You, dear reader, know this.

I have come to realize, however, that this friend of mine deserves room to grow up. Growth is painful, that is why we as children experience “growing pains,” but this uncomfortable period of our lives is necessary. It teaches maturity and strength, and in some ways, it teaches us how to love from afar.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as so many say. It makes the moments you do have together – the first embrace after reuniting, or the car ride back from the airport – all the more special. I miss this friend immensely, and I miss all the platonic lovers I left behind in my many moves over the years. Yet, I regret not their friendships nor the pain leaving them caused me.

Loving someone is never a waste. Loving these people changed me for the better, and if saying farewell is the price I must pay for friendship, let me leave you now.

Goodbye friend, we lived in the present tense together. We were hopeless romantics and reckless teenagers; devoted listeners and eager overanalyzers; barefoot walkers and artistic aesthetes. I thank you for the time we had, and for all the more time we may have someday in the future. I love you.