Twenty-Two

Someone I would like to consider a good friend said something to me about a mutual friend not understanding her struggles in life.

It actually hit pretty hard for me. I kind of answered her comment on a very practical level, but it occurred to me shortly after I hit send, that on a more personal level, I didn't really answer part of it.  Admittedly, that is a conversation to be had in person, but in short, it is hard to understand what someone is going through if they don't tell you about it.

This particular friend has told me a little bit of her story that she hasn't shared with this other friend, and it seems there was some contention between the two, and it was pertaining to one not knowing a part of the other person's story.

I had an experience the other day where I commented upon a recipe that was frequently made in my house as a child. Someone asked if my parents were paying for my therapy for preparing that for us to eat, but I couldn't bring myself to be annoyed because she didn't know about the time in my life in which we were so poor it wasn't even a joke. Like so poor that there were times where things like running water weren't a thing. Or the trips to the grocery store where I was handed a calculator and told that $25 was all the money we had for food for four people that week, and to say stop when we got to that number.

Why? Because I've never really shared that part of my life with too many people.  I am, in fact, pretty sure this is the first time I've recounted anything like that here. I suspect that my sister dying is the hardest thing I've written about in this space to date.

That was almost twenty-two years ago. Reading through that hit me really hard today. I'm pretty sure most of my current friends don't even know about that one.