I didn’t know you were leaving

 “I didn’t know you were leaving …”

Some losses arrive like storms, loud, sudden, undeniable.  And then some settle in silently, like a truth you never knew.

I recently lost a friend.  A college senior.  Not the closest buddy or confidante, but someone you would rush to and pick up from wherever you had left. We weren’t talking every day, but there was a quiet bond we shared. Life had moved us into different corners. There were occasional messages, a text on a festival, a birthday and the general “hope you’re doing well.” We chatted a long time back.  Had plans to meet our favourite Professor and have a reunion.  Then the messages became thin. He stopped replying and became one on my Broadcast list.

I assumed what we all assume: “must be busy - life happens - will connect soon.”

And somehow that day never came, and ended with a message from his brother, “Michael is no more.”

 

I didn’t know he was fighting cancer.  I didn’t know he was suffering.  He was surely surrounded, but without me in that circle.  And now, I sit with an uncomfortable grief.  Not just that he’s gone, but that I didn’t know he was leaving.

There’s a peculiar helplessness in this to wonder if he ever thought, even for a moment.

 

"She never called."  “She never checked in.”

Maybe he didn’t and understood the drift of life as we all do.  But grief doesn’t deal in certainties. It lingers in possibilities.  And so, this is not just about loss, it is about distance.  The kind we don’t notice growing.

We live in a time when staying connected is easier than ever, and yet, somehow, we are more absent from each other’s real lives. We scroll, we like, we assume. We take silence at face value.  But silence can mean many things. 

Most often it is busyness, but sometimes it can be illness, loneliness or some brutal struggle.  And sometimes, it is somebody quietly fighting a battle they haven’t found the words to share.

And those are the moments when a second message matters.  A call instead of a text.  A little persistence instead of polite distance.

Maybe they still won’t respond, maybe they won’t open up, but at least they will know that you tried to care enough and not stop at silence.  And perhaps, just as importantly, we who remain will not be left wondering what we could have done differently.

So here is a gentle plea to all of us who are always meaning to “catch up”- stay in touch, send the second message and make that hesitant call.  And if you are the one going through struggles, leave a clue, a word, or a sign.

Let someone in because when we leave, we don’t just take our stories with us, we leave behind questions in the hearts of those who cared.

And sometimes, those questions hurt more than the loss itself.

 

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