Last year at this time I was done with her. Really, I was. But she refused to accept it. She kept giving me gifts, taking me places, even stayed for the entirety of my mother's visitation and service.
So I was left with a dilemma: how do I lose someone after 30 years without hurting her? I didn't want to be mean. I didn't want retribution. I certainly didn't want a scene -- there'd already been too much drama between us. I just wanted it over. But since she clearly values our friendship more than I realized, I decided to keep her in my life, albeit at arm's length.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6W-HNDUpGq2kAwX0HUQ035njtk1LBJdWb4Dj3T9gc7gnCuoCZ7IGDRf-QCSw9eFn-rNqBk0EsXrjqOMbNTPB9ISn4G_Mk34RDB4Hb0nLeWywN-cDb9EnwJASLTX-NRtWQKHJH/s200/package.png)
And so that's why I sent her a birthday gift: a book that chronicled the 20th century evolution of the suburb where she raised her kids, and a refrigerator magnet that said, "HUGS" because that's how she always signs her letters and emails.
I'm happy and proud of how I handled this. The gift was obviously unique to her and it arrived on time for her special day. But since I mailed it, I'm able to celebrate her and still keep her at arm's length. For while she's earned a place in my life, I've earned the comfort and peace that comes with space.