I Ghosted My Best Friend. Then, The Unimaginable Happened.

Michele was my best friend. Not in the I-tell-her-everything-the-minute-it-happens kind of way, but our friendship was effortless. I could cancel plans with her five minutes before we were supposed to meet and she would understand. I could tell her that I took that toxic boyfriend back yet again and she wouldn’t judge. “I probably would have done the same thing,” she would say. She is the only friend I had in adulthood who didn’t make friendship feel like a burden. She accepted me, she understood our boundaries, and we always met each other exactly where we were.

Until we didn’t. Or, I didn’t anyway. It had been years when I texted her out of the blue to say where the hell have you been, my friend? And as always, it felt as if no time had passed. We caught up on each other’s love lives, we bitched about work, and we shared our anxieties over things like finances, our kids, and our mental health. It was during these chats that I offered to help my friend with a job opportunity, ultimately encouraging her to start freelance writing on the side (as I had been doing for years). You are a great writer, Michele, and the money is quite good. I will help you get started, I texted.

Michele was excited about this new endeavor and grateful for my guidance as we embarked on a journey that mixed business with friendship. I did what I could to help her, but it was with this new added layer that everything fell apart. After almost 20 years of friendship, the effortlessness slipped away. Michele, I perceived, was asking for more (time and guidance) than I could give. For me, it was the perfect storm of circumstances: I was in a place in my life where I was desperately trying to set and honor boundaries in all of my relationships. I didn’t want to offer or deliver more than I had to give. I wasn't, however, mature or healthy enough to articulate these needs to people.

In the moment, I thought I was setting boundaries. I thought that ignoring and blocking her was me taking a stand. I thought I was being mature and healthy and practicing self-care. I thought she was the problem, and I needed to stop the problem. Eventually, Michele stopped trying to reach me. I don’t know when that was. I do know that there were plenty of times where I felt guilt and regret. Times when I wondered how she was doing. But I didn’t want to open that door again. Part of me was proud of myself for finally setting and keeping a boundary in my life.

Fast-forward two years. I was scrolling on Facebook, and her daughter’s page popped up and I clicked on the page to see what her beautiful daughter had been up to. Working as a doctor. Scroll. Married. Scroll.

Michele’s Obituary.

I was stopped dead in my tracks. How could this be? It hadn’t been that long. She was so young. How could she be dead? What had I done? Michele died from cancer. And I lost the best friend I ever had — but I walked away from her long before God took her from me.

My heart sank into my stomach in that moment, and I think it is still there. Had she tried to contact me after the diagnosis? Did she think about me when she knew death was near? Did she hate me? Michele had a funeral and I wasn’t there. Guilt. Shame. Perspective.

I failed Michele in my attempt to set a boundary and I failed myself, too. I ended a great friendship and why? Because my time was too valuable? Because my friend needed more than I could give? Because boundaries are so damn important?

The truth is, I ended this friendship because I forgot. I forgot about all the times I was hard to love, or demanding, or not the best friend. I forgot how hard it was to start a career as a writer and how impossible it is to turn off that passion once it is ignited. I forgot what it feels like to be alone and lean on someone with vulnerability. I forgot what it's like to be in a position where I need more than I am able to give.

And I forgot just how short life really is.

And now I live with guilt, regret, shame, and a constant pang of self-hatred. My decision to block and ignore the best friend I had for 20 years was selfish and cowardice. I have yet to really come to terms with it. Sometimes it's too painful to look in the mirror. Sometimes the decisions we make are irreversible. Sometimes goodbye is forever.

Michele was smart and witty and loyal, and she could tear up any dance floor. She loved her cats and her students and her daughter with all of her heart. She was a wonderful person, who suffered a lot in her short life, and I like to think that for the decades I knew her, I somehow offered her a fragment of the comfort, fun, and loyalty she always offered me, but I am afraid that just isn’t the case. Or at least it wasn’t when she died. Perhaps we will meet again and I can hug her and say I am sorry, Michele.

In the meantime, I’ll work on giving myself grace as I strive to be a better, more compassionate friend. And I will try to remember that even when it isn’t the easiest one — love is always the answer.

Suzanne Hayes is a freelance writer from Connecticut who spends her days teaching Latin and English to high school students and her nights writing about life as a sober, divorced mother of three. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, Guideposts Magazine, Yahoo, Under the Gum Tree Literary Magazine, Success Magazine and The Girlfriend by AARP. You can find Suzanne at her website, or on Instagram @suzanneeileenhayes.Do you have a personal story you’d like to see published on BuzzFeed? Send us a pitch at essay-pitch@buzzfeed.com.