Grieving the small, big things

In 2021, I had over 25 friends move out of the city of Chicago.

Roommates. Small group leaders and members. Friends of 5+ years. Friends who made up my sense of community. Friends who made Chicago home.

Some moved to various states across the country, and some even across the world.

Most of these friends had plans to move in the summer, so I focused on soaking up time with these friends, while also trying to invest in newer friendships. I didn’t want to feel ill prepared for when the moving trucks came and I was left in my one bedroom apartment alone.

One of the most drastic changes was saying goodbye to my three roommates and my home of five years. I may write a separate post about the meaning of that apartment. It provided a roof over my head when I needed one most, and it provided me with some of my dearest friends.

Countless memories lived in that home, and I dreaded saying goodbye to it – to my physical home – as well as the people that made Chicago home.

It’s now been almost exactly a year since I packed up my roommates and said goodbye. A year since living on my own.

A few months ago, I was challenged (in a sincere, loving way) by someone about my grieving process and whether I had given myself the permission to really grieve all the change in those relationships.

As I reflected, I realized how often I didn’t – or perhaps couldn’t – let myself fully grieve.

A friend would tell me their plans to move, and I felt I needed to set aside my sadness in order to be happy for them. While I tried to let the conflicting emotions sit together, it was difficult. I didn’t want my feelings of sadness to interrupt the celebration of a new chapter for a friend.

The year began with a few. As the months passed by, more friends told me about their plans to move. Sometimes I would hear of multiple friends sharing their moving plans with me during the same week. Once the number passed twenty, I stopped counting.

The sheer volume of goodbyes left my heart grieving the change and loss of proximity with these friendships. While I was excited for my friends, they had something exciting and new to look forward to; meanwhile, I was left to navigate the change and fill the gap they left behind.

I never wanted anyone to feel bad or question their decision to move, so it was hard to express how sad I was for my friends to move. To be honest, I think I feared letting myself even feel the depth of the loss. I didn’t want to accept it.

I was recently reminded by the movie Inside Out about the power of allowing ourselves to feel sadness. I tend to suppress hard emotions because I don’t want to get stuck in a dark place. I want to remain positive and focus on what’s good. As an emotionally-driven person, this can sometimes do more harm than good. There were aspects of my emotional well-being that felt stuck. Oftentimes, feeling is the only way through.

As I continue to process all the relational change I’ve experienced in the last year (and still experience), I’m finally giving myself permission to grieve. To acknowledge the loss. To feel sad.

The same person who challenged me about my grieving process helped me see that my grieving acknowledges the meaning of those relationships. To grieve is to acknowledge the love that was experienced.

So, here I am – a year or many months later from saying goodbye – saying I miss you. To my friends who moved, I am grateful for the ways you each impacted my time in Chicago. You helped make it home. 

I’m still in the process of grieving. I’m learning how to better communicate with my friends what I need, especially as most move into new stages of life. I believe letting myself fully grieve will make more space for what is in front of me now. To appreciate who is here and to continue to invest in relationships in the city. God has and will continue to meet my needs, and He promises to never change even when the world around me is constantly changing.

While we navigate these changes throughout our lives, true friendship love knows no bounds, no city lines, no marks of distance. It looks different, but friendship will always be meaningful.