You never know when you will need—really need—a friend.

It's easy to let friendships fade when you are part of a couple.

Friendship requires investments of time and energy but pays valuable dividends.

One evening many years ago, Tom did not come home when I expected him, and he didn’t answer his phone. My mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario, as one’s mind does.

I was panicked and freaked out, and my first instinct was to call someone to be with me as I figured out what to do and/or went out looking for him, fully expecting to find him bleeding in a dark parking lot. But at that moment, I realized I didn’t know who to call. The few close friends I had lived far away.

Like many married couples, Tom and I depended heavily on each other for all things. He was my love, my buddy, my helpmate, my housemate, my Saturday night date, and my weeknight “I don’t feel like cooking, let’s go out” companion. As an introvert with limited need for social contact, I was satisfied to just hang with Tom, and so friendships faded in importance. Lots of acquaintances, no friends.

And so there I was, frantic, with no one to call.

As I was pulling myself together to go out looking for Tom, alone, he pulled into the driveway. I’d forgotten that he’d told me he had after-work plans, and he’d left his phone in the car. He was all apologies when he saw how upset I was, but all was well that ended well that night.

A friendship campaign pays off

Still, I decided then that my friendship situation was unacceptable and began a campaign to intentionally develop and nurture friendships. I reconnected with people I’d neglected and decided what acquaintances to upgrade. I reached out to people and made plans that might or might not include Tom. I said yes when people invited me to do things. Over the course of a few years, I developed several close friendships.

And then the worst-case scenario actually happened. This time, when Tom wasn’t home as expected, I drove straight to his place of business, white-knuckled, and found him felled by a heart attack. And this time I had someone to call. I can’t remember if I called Hillary before or after I’d called 9-1-1, but it was definitely before I was completely coherent. I just remember repeating her name again and again before finally blurting, “Tom is dead” and “Will you come?”

She raced over immediately and stayed with me while the paramedics and police milled around, and while they wheeled Tom’s body away, and then she came home with me, and we sat on my patio until past dark. It was the middle of the pandemic and pre-vaccine, so she couldn’t stay the night, but for the next several months, on days I didn’t see her, she checked in with me by text.

The value of investing in friendships

I was heartbroken when Hillary moved away a few months later, but by that time, I had enough friends that I always had someone to lean on when necessary. And in the years since Tom’s death, my friends have become everything. They can’t replace Tom, certainly. I’m still lonely, but I am lonely specifically for him. Otherwise, I rarely have to be alone if I don’t want to.

I still work hard on my friendships. I’m not a particularly warm and fuzzy person, but I am trying to sand down my sharp edges. As an introvert, I can get testy after too much interaction, but I know when to step back. Otherwise, I put effort into my social life and consider it an investment. Sometimes I socialize when I’m not really in the mood, just to make sure I am showing up for other people as they have shown up for me. Sometimes I socialize when I’m not in the mood because I know it is good for me; I call it medicine. Not that I don’t enjoy my friendships—I have all kinds of fun with my friends. But I don’t take any of it for granted.

If it weren’t for my friends, I would be a very alone person. No children, parents long gone, no extended family. I have a brother in another state whom I see every few years, but that’s the extent of my family. And so my friends are my family.

Do you know who you would call?

I guess this post is less for people who are already widowed than for everyone else. I have heard many widowed people bemoan their loneliness and the fact that no one is showing up for them. They lament that when they lost their spouse, they lost their everything. They seem to have no friends, and I feel so sad for them. Making friends can be challenging as we get older. It also takes work, and grieving is a full-time job in itself.

And so I want to say to everyone whose spouse is their everything: Be careful. Be careful that you don’t get too disconnected from other people. Be careful you don’t lean on your spouse to the exclusion of others. Don’t be joined at the hip; develop a life outside of the relationship. Nothing is guaranteed. I had every intention of growing old with Tom, wrapped in our little cocoon of love and understanding and inside jokes. But fate had other plans and snatched him away much too early, leaving me to face the rest of my life without him.

But not completely alone. Thank goodness I had that long-ago dress rehearsal for the worst-case scenario. Thank goodness I recognized the lack in my life. And thank goodness for my friends.

© Psychology Today