A old friend from high school passed away last month. We had reconnected last year after S was born. The first time in seventeen years.
It feels astounding to write that.
When he passed, I was flooded with images and feelings of high school. I wandered down the road of nostalgia. I felt old. This is the age that these things happen. His passing affected me deeply. While time had passed, connection had not.
We leave much behind when we go. We never know the full extent.
His Facebook page has become a place to connect – to grieve, to celebrate. A collection of relationships that are left behind. It fascinates me how we use these public spaces to live our private lives.
That same week, a man left a family. New paths were taken. Again much is being left behind. We experience one version. Yet, another version, the new woman’s version, can be read on her Twitter timeline.Again, a private life is displayed publicly.
We peer through these keyholes and see what is on display. Yet, we can’t know the fulsome picture of the life, the circumstances. But is this much different than letters of yesteryear saved in boxes, than gossip at the watercooler, or than family tales retold?
We leave so much behind. We will never fully realize how far our breadcrumb trail extends or who has followed along. Those journeys will never be ours.
In the aftermath of leaving a job, I realized that my story, my truth, would never matter. What was left behind would be rewoven by those who found the threads.
In the moment of deciding to go, that is ours. However it is made. Even if we look back, for a final view, we’ll never really know the extent of what is there.
Photo Credit: Broo_am (Andy B) via Compfight cc
