more changes

A week ago my best friend moved away. 3 hours away. To some that may not seem far, to me it may as well be Russia.

We’ve lived close to each other, most of the time within 5 minutes of each other, for over 15 years. He’s been there for me out more often than I can count. He looked after me through my first bout of breast cancer when my sister couldn’t and when I got flu-like side effects from the bisphosphonate when I started my MBC treatment. He went with me to a lot of my CT and oncology appointments because I have a hard time going by myself. We’d have lunch after so I could decompress. He’s listed as a co-owner of Grady because at one point I could barely walk let alone lift anything so I couldn’t take him to the vet. He looked after him when I went out of town. We carpooled for years. We had dinner together at least once a week most of those years until the lockdown from the pandemic. We grocery shopped together. We share the same dark humour.

He was my muscle when I needed strong help, and my calm when I freaked out.

Yes, there’s text messages and video chats but no popping out for dinner or over for coffee. No comfort of knowing he’s just 5 minutes away. For him this might very well be a good thing. For me it just sucks.