(I came here to post when I realized I don’t remember sending my previous post.. LOL.)
I think I was in first grade. My parents religiously took me to Japanese school every Saturday, all the way to Minneapolis. The drive was about 60 min one way, which is an eternity at that age. I despised the fact that I missed Saturday morning cartoons as well as the homework I had to do from J school. The fun part was all of the people, my parents had friends and I made friends as well. Most of the people who came to the school were kids of Japanese business people stationed in the Twin Cities area, back then, when it was a huge area of commerce with Japanese businesses during the Japanese economic boom era.
I had a pretty large group of “friends” (in retrospect, I guess they were just my classmates) but I had one “best friend” (yes, back in those days, the term BFF did not exist). Well one day, she and her family packed their bags and moved back to Japan. I don’t really remember her, or even her name now, but what I do remember is the pain. I cried the entire drive back home, I kept telling my parents she was my best friend, and that I had lost my best friend. Typical of my cynical parents, they responded, “how do you know she was your best friend?”
Loss can be sad. It’s much harder for the people that get left behind than the one who does the leaving. I, for one, have typically been the one to leave. It’s been awhile since I’ve been the one to be left behind.
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