I’m Worried About the Darkness

A dear friend I’ve known since the second grade seems to be fading away, and I’ll soon be on a quest to find out why.

He’s a kind, thoughtful, decent man, whose friendship and shared love of artwork connected us for over fifty years. I’ll call him David, to protect his anonymity.

David lives an uncomplicated life of work, church, caring for his mother, and making artwork. He never married, and still lives in the home he grew up in.

David is a wonderful artist, and his personalized birthday and holiday greeting cards amused my family and me for many years.

He has been a loyal friend. In nearly all the big moments of my life, from graduations and promotion parties to weddings and retirement, David’s smiling face can be found in the photos.

He used to be active on social media, and often commented on my published essays.

But for some time now, he’s gone dormant.

My phone calls, emails, and online messages to him went unanswered. I finally sent an email asking if he was okay. The next day I received a two- sentence reply, stating, “Hi John, Sorry for the late response, I’ve been busy over here. Thanks for checking up on me. Blessings, David.”

His response was short. No offer to get in touch. No inquiry about me or my family. It didn’t sound like him at all.

I emailed my gratitude that he was okay, and asked if there was a preferred way he’d like to communicate.

But I never heard back.

A friend who cares

Just before a recent two-week trip to Italy, I phoned David and left a voicemail message on his landline (he does not have a smartphone, to my knowledge). I asked him to give me a call, stating that I’d like to talk to him.

He never called.

During my trip to Italy, I shot many photographs. Walking up a steep, cobblestone street, I shot a scene of people surrounded by darkness as the late afternoon light faded above them on a building wall (refer above photo).

I remember stopping there, thinking of David.

I felt like our friendship was in darkness too, and the past joy we shared was the ebbing afternoon light. A memory, fleeting, fading away.

What has happened, I wondered to myself.

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.
― Henri Nouwen, Out of Solitude: Three Meditations on the Christian Life

Is he depressed?

After all, he’s caring for his ailing mother, and I know very well how difficult that can be. David lost his father a few years ago, but he still has a brother and two sisters.

Then I wondered if I’d done something to offend him, but I couldn’t think of anything. After my retirement and the COVID years, we haven’t seen one another in person.

I phoned last Christmas to tell him I’d be in town, and that we should get together for coffee. But he never returned my call.

I reminded myself that David’s disappearance from social media likely reflects something beyond our friendship or any perceived wounds.

But what exactly, I can’t say.

Forsaken friendship is like roofless ruins

Throughout my travels and photography in Italy, thoughts of David were never far off.

I came across a silly toy bear outside an establishment, blowing bubbles into the air. It was the kind of thing that David would draw in a birthday card.

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness, and a longing to find out what was going on with David.

Later on, I came across a gorilla in a window display, and this too immediately reminded me of David, because he loves to draw monkeys and place them in his personalized greeting cards.

David is a Christian who has served in his church for as long as I can remember. The many churches and cathedrals I toured in Italy sparked memories of David’s participation in Christmas choir performances in his church. My family and I often attended.

In a few of the churches I said my own quiet prayers, hoping that whatever was happening with David can be addressed. Because age has taught me how valuable friendships are.

If friendship is like a cathedral, then forsaken friendship is like roofless ruins… ― Hilary Thayer Hamann, Anthropology of an American Girl

Friendships can never be taken for granted. They require effort, loyalty, and sacrifice. And when a friend seems to fall off the map, we have an obligation to look for them.

To rescue them, or at least try.

Even the lost find their way home

I don’t know how things will turn out. My Italy trip ended and I’m back home now.

My birthday is next week, and David has never missed sending me one of his homemade cards.

So I’m going to wait and see what happens. If a card arrives, then I’ll take that as a good sign. I’ll reach out afterward, and try again to spark up some communication.

But if no card arrives, then I’ll probably book a flight. I’ll rent a car, and I’ll drive to David’s home.

I’ll ring the doorbell.

If he opens the door, I’ll offer a smile, a hug, and a pledge to help him in any way I can. Because that’s what friends do.

They look out for one another. They launch a rescue mission. They shine a light into the darkness.

We all lose friends.. we lose them in death, to distance, and over time. But even though they may be lost, hope is not. The key is to keep them in your heart, and when the time is right, you can pick up the friendship right where you left off. Even the lost find their way home, when you leave the light on. ― Amy Marie Walz

How about you?

Have you lost touch with a dear friend? Has time and distance dimmed the radiance of your friendship? Do you long to reconnect, or at least try?

If so, then join me.

Reach out to that friend. Find a way. Pick up the phone. Book a flight. Fight for them. Don’t let the darkness win.

Be the nightlight so they can find their way back to you.

Before you go

I’m John P. Weiss. I write elegant stories and essays about life. Check out my popular Saturday Letters here.

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This post was previously published on Medium.com.

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Photographs by John P. Weiss