What is friendship if not a series of shared moments that the people involved use to bond them for a few days, months, years…a lifetime? Then in comes social media and we are able to bond with people in ways we never imagined. We get to see our childhood friends raise their children, we see our co-workers hiking on the weekends and we are able to move casual connections into true lasting friendships — or some of those hit the delete pile. Their invitation to The Truman Show has been revoked.
My friendship with Jill was one of those casual connections that started in real life and was nurtured by social media.
We met in an acting class in San Francisco. I was there to brush up on some skills, Jill was there to push herself out of her comfort zone. We instantly clicked and I looked forward to seeing her each week. After the course ended we kept in touch; meeting for brunch and the occasional dinner. We emailed. Yes, emailed. Jill didn’t really enjoy texting and preferred phone calls. She rarely answered her phone though, so that preference remained a mystery. So, we emailed. She came to all of my shows, and I continued to try and convince her to audition for something. She had impeccable comedic timing, but I’m not sure she ever truly believed me on that one. It took her a while to trust that I rarely blew smoke.
I left San Francisco in 2017 and we started communicating mostly through social media. She was surprisingly active on Instagram. In 2018 (I think) while back in San Francisco to work on a play, we met for brunch. That day she told me she had cancer. She let me be sad for about 30 seconds and then she told me about her plans to travel and to have a celebration of life party at some point. She hoped I would travel back from Austin to attend. I said of course I would.
I didn’t see her again in person until 2019. She came to see me in a play and we spent some time chatting in the lobby. Not enough time. I invited her out to continue to catch up. She didn’t feel well and went home. I tried again to see her, but her treatments meant she often felt exhausted or nauseous. I returned to Austin without a proper catch up.
I found out yesterday that she died in May. Our last communication was late March. Unlike many other people in my life, Jill and I weren’t connected via a web of other friends. We existed on our own island. Our bond was just ours. There wasn’t anyone to remember to tell me she was gone.
My grief is intense. It is lonely. It is riddled with guilt. I let too much time pass. I was dealing with a lot and time raced by in a blur and I hadn’t reached out to check on her. I’m not surprised she kept the severity of her illness from me. That was her. She didn’t want to bother. I wish she had bothered me. I wish she had relentlessly emailed me until I paid attention.
I’m grateful we didn’t let distance keep us apart. We became social media friends in the most beautiful way. Commenting on each other’s lives, sharing laughs and planning the next time we could squeeze each other. I was able to watch her travel the world, to see her big smile and that wicked grey streak blowing in the wind while she was on a boat in St. Lucia. She sent me videos of the dogs she fostered during the pandemic. I still have some of them and listening to her laugh as a chihuahua puppy races through her apartment is equal parts devastating and tremendously beautiful.
I miss you Jill. My next trip to San Francisco won’t make any sense knowing I won’t see you. I’m afraid I’m gonna need more than 30 seconds to be sad this time.
