The message was brief yet unmistakable. I hadn’t answered calls or reached out for months, despite being home. I had made a choice, and she understood. She said goodbye with a hint that maybe we’d reconnect someday—who knows if that will ever happen.
My friend Alex once remarked that friends shouldn’t ghost each other. While I usually agree, a woman I once held dear drifted away over the past couple of years, and I ultimately let that relationship go. This situation was different, though.
We met in 1976, both young women from Florida who enlisted in the military and later attended one of the last all-female classes at Fort McClellan, Alabama. We became neighbors at the bachelor officers’ quarters at Fort Belvoir, where I got to know an exceptionally talented, brilliant woman who would far surpass my career achievements. As I moved westward, our paths would cross whenever I returned to the East Coast for work.
Regardless of her career success, I still remembered the color of her teddy bears. As time passed, our communications dwindled, but we always managed to have those deep, meaningful conversations that would reconnect us. I can’t pinpoint when our paths diverged significantly, but it became apparent that we could no longer engage in the discussions we once cherished.
She initially supported John Kasich for President, but later backed Trump. I could understand the first choice, despite our shared experiences of assault, but her harsh words about Hillary shocked me. I wasn’t fond of her either, yet I recognized the danger of Trump—a sentiment I was proven right about in subsequent years. I lost a long-term friend over that election.
Last summer, after nearly four years without contact, we spoke again. One of the first things she mentioned was attending the Mt. Rushmore rally. My heart sank. I knew then this conversation would be challenging. Later, she expressed beliefs that Covid was exaggerated, asking if I truly believed the information being presented. I had just come off the phone with a nurse friend, overwhelmed and terrified by the reality of the pandemic. I couldn’t believe she would ask such a thing.
When we finished talking, she suggested we speak more often, leaving me unsure of how to respond. I felt another significant part of my life slip away, much like an iceberg calving into the sea, melting into memories. It was clear to me that we wouldn’t speak again—another decades-long friendship lost to political differences.
I also have a friend I met online, a retired Army Ranger and dedicated Democrat. Our friendship blossomed, and when he decided to move back East, we continued our conversations. We debated politics often, and he shared that if he learned someone supported Trump, he was done with them. We had both accepted friends who voted for him initially, but a second vote felt like crossing an unbridgeable line.
Over the years, I’ve had to let go of several cherished friendships due to these differences. While some may label my actions as ghosting, I preferred to remember these strong personalities as they were—brilliant, funny, and incredible. I suspect they believe I’ve lost my way, leaning towards the left, but that’s where I belong.
When core values diverge, maintaining close connections becomes challenging. The political divide in America has caused rifts similar to those seen in the Civil War, often rooted in the same issues. I cannot support anything that perpetuates injustice. I know my stance, and I’ve lost friends over it.
Some beliefs are non-negotiable. I would never expect my friends to alter their identities for my comfort. I cherish the memories we created together and wish them well on their respective journeys.
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