Goodbye, My Friend: A Story of Lifelong Friendship and Loss

I am always learning more about the path of aging, especially as I experience
it myself. One thing I am beginning to understand is that loss becomes more
frequent over time—and it feels different now.

WATCH: Goodbye to a Lifelong Friend | A Story of Memory and Loss

Where It All Began

In 1955, I walked into a third-grade classroom at Stanley Hall in Evansville, Indiana. It was
a new city, filled with unfamiliar faces. I imagine it must have been scary, though I don’t
remember it clearly.
Somewhere along the way, I met Richard. Then came Don and John.
We just clicked.
We became a team—the truest kind of friends.

The Simple Joys of Growing Up

In those early years, we spent time at Richard’s house having sleepovers. Before long, we
were playing basketball in our driveways, using hoops our fathers had mounted above the
garage.
We even had spotlights so we could play at night.
Rain or snow (after shoveling), heat or cold—it didn’t matter. We played in all conditions.
We were obsessed—and we were having fun.
Those were simple days, but they stayed with us.

Life Takes Its Course

As time went on, life pulled us in different directions.
Richard flew medevac helicopters in Vietnam, evacuating wounded soldiers. Later, he
became a park ranger. I went into wildlife management.
When we reconnected years later, we laughed about it—two kids from the same
driveway, both ending up working in the wild.
Don and John are still very much alive—and still very much my friends.

Reconnecting, Years Later

A couple of years ago, Richard began calling me at random times.
He was in the early stages of dementia and living with his daughter in Colorado. Our
conversations often drifted back to the past—Stanley Hall, paper routes, basketball
games, and our dogs.
Those memories seemed to anchor us both.
Not long after, I flew from San Diego to Denver for a celebration of life—while Richard
could still appreciate it

Saying Goodbye

Eventually, Richard moved into a VA memory care facility.
Then, not long ago, his daughter Lindsay called to tell me he was coming home.
He passed shortly after, with Lindsay holding his hands.

What Remains

At first, it felt like a part of my childhood had passed with him.
But over time, something shifted.
Those years—the laughter, the games, the friendship—now live within me in a way I
never expected.
They feel closer, not farther away.

Gratitude

Goodbye, Richard.
Thank you for your friendship.