The message was brief but unmistakable. I hadn’t returned calls or messages for months, and though I wasn’t traveling, my silence was deliberate. She understood. With a farewell, she said, “Maybe I’ll see you on the other side.”
Who knows what that means? I certainly don’t.
My friend David once remarked that true friends don’t just disappear on each other. While I mostly agree, in recent years, one woman distanced herself from me, and I chose to end that connection. This situation felt different.
We had been friends since 1976, having met in the military as two girls from Florida. We both enlisted, eventually landing in Officer’s Basic at one of the last all-female classes at Fort McClellan, Alabama. We later became neighbors at the bachelor officers’ quarters at Fort Belvoir. She was an incredible, intelligent woman who would later surpass my career in remarkable ways. Her achievements soared, while I would catch up with her during my visits back to the East Coast for work. Still, I always remembered the color of her teddy bears.
Over time, our communication lessened, but we could still reconnect through our deep, meaningful conversations. I don’t recall exactly when she veered sharply to the right, but it became evident that our discussions could no longer flow as they once had.
She initially supported John Kasich for President but later backed Trump. I understood her choice the first time, especially since we had both faced trauma. She expressed harsh opinions about Hillary, whom I also didn’t favor, but I felt clear about my vote: anyone but Trump. I was vindicated in my assessment of his character.
I lost one long-term friend over that election.
Last summer, we spoke for the first time in nearly four years. One of the first things she mentioned was attending the Mt. Rushmore rally. My heart sank.
“Oh no,” I thought.
Later, she made a comment about Covid that clearly indicated she thought it was a hoax or that the numbers were exaggerated. She asked if I truly believed what was being reported. I had just finished a conversation with a nurse friend whose life was being upended by the virus—her family had been infected, and she was terrified.
I inhaled sharply. I. Just. Can’t. I couldn’t believe she would even ask such a question.
When we wrapped up our conversation, she expressed a desire to talk more often. I was at a loss for words, feeling another piece of my life drift away like an iceberg, disappearing into the sea of memories.
In that moment, I realized we wouldn’t speak again. Another forty-year friendship lost over political differences.
I also have a friend I met online, Mark, a retired Army Ranger and dedicated Democrat. It’s an unlikely combination, but we connected and continued our conversations as he prepared to move back East.
We often discuss politics. As dating was off the table, we enjoyed lively conversations about his dating life. He told me that once he discovered someone supported Trump, he was done with them—no negotiation.
Both of us had accepted friends who voted for Trump the first time, but to do it again? After all the revelations about his actions? How could anyone choose that path again?
The harsh reality hit me, too. Over the years, I’ve had to distance myself from several loved ones. Two of them I simply let go. David might say I ghosted them, but they were strong personalities, and I didn’t want to end things on a bitter note. You might call me a coward, and I’d probably agree, but I preferred to remember them in the light of our best moments—the brilliant, funny, and intelligent women they were.
I’m sure they believe just as strongly that I have lost my way, choosing to lean left and embrace my diverse history. That’s where I belong; it’s who I am.
When values diverge, maintaining closeness becomes challenging. This division in America has been deeply damaging, with Trumpism fracturing friendships and families much like the Civil War did—often for similar reasons. I cannot support anything that continues to oppress others. The fact that we are still fighting this battle stains our society. I know my stance has cost me friendships.
Some things simply aren’t negotiable.
I would never ask my friends to change their core beliefs for my comfort. I cherish the years we shared, the lessons learned, and the memories made.
I wish them all the best on their journeys.
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