Tonight, we went to see a play called Dinner with Friends, which is about two couples who are best friends and do everything together – outings, vacations, endless home-cooked dinners at home. They even get pregnant and raise their kids together. Then one day, one of those marriages breaks up, and they have to face the harsh reality that life is evolving and will never be the same again – for them as friends, as well as their own respective relationships with their spouses (and ex-spouses).

Karen tells Beth that for the first 20 years of her life, she did everything she could do to get away from her family (assumption here is that they are obviously dysfunctional), and the last 20 years of her life, she did everything she could to create her own family – of friends, a loving husband, and kids they bore and raised. Apparently, she says, she was trying to escape how “fucked up” her family was, but in the end, the friends she chose are just as fucked up.

That actually sounds kind of familiar.

I was sitting having iced tea with a friend today, and we were half joking about how people in general are disappointing when it comes to “trying hard enough” to keep in touch. “There’s no reciprocation,” my friend said. He said to me that in general, if a friend is over 20 miles away from you, the chance that s/he will make a genuine effort to continually keep in touch is pretty tiny. I said I had friends less than that distance who were difficult to make plans with. And then I have found with people who I have considered close, sometimes I just get exhausted of always feeling like I am putting more effort into keeping the contact going, so since Ed left us last year, I’ve consciously made an effort to stop doing certain things that either provide no benefit for me or give me no joy.

1. I’ve stopped sending news articles I find interesting (and believe certain friends will find interesting) to a select number of people. If they are never responding (and I find, through using bit.ly links, that they are never even opening my links), they probably shouldn’t be getting the few extra minutes I spend thinking about them and actually sending the links to them to read.

2. I’ve stopped trying to maintain contact with people who don’t reach out to me proactively. Why do I want to stay in contact with people who don’t think of me on their own?

3. This one is sad. I’ve stopped calling certain people. I’ve realized after thinking about some phone conversations that I’m not really being listened to. I’m too charitable when it comes to listening sometimes, and I don’t want to listen to things that bore me anymore. When you are not being listened to, why should you listen to that person?

Every day, I’d like to think I am growing and changing a little. You often hear stories about couples and friends outgrowing each other even when they may spend every single day together. It’s one of the hardest things to slowly start letting go of friends that you have had for maybe decades because they are almost like habits for you, and maybe bad ones at that. You are so used to having them around that after a while, you can’t really remember what pleasure they are really bringing you today, not 10 years ago.

And there comes a time in life when you really need to let go of your bad habits, as painful as it is.

Last week, I finally booked a trip for my parents to go to the Grand Canyon. This is a trip my mom has been wanting to do for a long time. She actually wanted to do it last year but was ultra dramatic about Ed’s condition, so she decided against it last March. The four of us were all supposed to go together. Now this April, the three of us will go without Ed, and Chris will be joining us.

It felt really good to plan and arrange all of this for my family, but the entire time going through flights, hotels, and tours, I felt a little pain knowing Ed would not be joining us. Last night, I dreamt that my parents and I were at the hotel in Phoenix during our upcoming trip, and for whatever reason, my mom randomly decided to bring a collection of photos of Ed as a child. I slowly went through them and paused on his elementary school yearly portraits. He’s so, so innocent, I thought. And then I began to cry. My mom continued doing what she was doing, oblivious to my tears.

Those photos depicted him when he was much younger, but at heart, he was always a child – so innocent and trusting and naive. I really miss my brother.