“Don’t Call, Write, or Text.” My Best Friend Broke Up with Me. Now What?

“Don’t call, write, or text” were the last words, message, or communication I received from my best friend of over 50 years. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. He wasn’t just my friend; he was my brother—like family. At least, that’s how I saw it from my perspective. But it seems I may have been wrong. I may not have been as good a friend or brother as I thought.

It’s not that there wasn’t a reason or rationale for my best friend to break up with me. It’s just that I never imagined he would be the one to do it—especially to me and the timing was bloody awful. More times than I can count, we told each other, “You’re the brother I never had.” He actually had three brothers. I only had three sisters. He had a sister, too, so from my point of view, he had it all. Two of his brothers died, both times it was sad and tragic. No need for details. 

I was in pain too, but truthfully, he never asked how I was feeling. I understand that the focus is on the one who lost their brother—of course, I get that. But I also shared a lifetime of memories with them. One of his brothers passed away shortly after we finished high school, if I remember correctly, and in a terrible car accident a few weeks after I saw him for what the last time was and the other passed away in 2015 or 2016.

He died a hero—he was driving a passenger van when he suffered a heart attack but managed to stop the vehicle before he passed away saving the passengers. The details are a bit blurry, and I know the dates are not exact. Both losses were profound, and the grief I carry is still real.

At the end of the day, I saw him as my brother and my best friend—a lifelong companion. I always imagined us growing old together, sitting on a porch, sharing a drink. For him, it would have been rum and Coke, and for me, a gin and tonic or a martini - or a cold beer for both of us is agreeable. He loved his Earl Gray tea, and I favored coffee. He was a smoker and although I did smoke cigarettes off and on, I was more of an occasional 420 man. I envisioned us reminiscing about the old days until we were both gone. That was my dream. I crave that that will happen. I miss him.

I kind of just would do anything to have him back in my life. I don't know if that is a healthy place to be, all I know is that I literally would do anything to see him again. Anything to restart the friendship. If he called me today and asked me to fly to Toronto to see him because it’s really important - I would be on the next flight. If anyone from his family got in touch with me and said that he asked to see me, I’d be on the same flight. If he agreed to my request to meet up, book me the same flight. There isn't anything that would prevent me from seeing him - just one more time.

I texted, but he never replied. I called, but he didn’t return my calls. I sent email after email, yet nothing came back. He was just… gone. Vanished. As if 50 years had never existed—or mattered at all. At least, that’s how it felt. He made it seem so effortless to disappear, and it made me question the depth and quality of our relationship. Was it one-sided all along? He meant so much to me, how could he not know - but maybe I wasn’t as important to him—especially in those later years when our story started to go sideways. What a mess!

I initially thought about using my kids or his brother as a way to reach him, but after thinking it over, I realized it was the wrong approach. He’s smart and would likely find it manipulative, as it was meant to be, which would only make things worse, and I’d end up feeling terrible about that act of desperation and emotional aggression. I talked to my father about the situation, and he said, “Let him go. You shouldn’t chase or beg—it’s his decision, and only he can change what he’s decided.” 

I feel I deserve a second chance because I never got one. It all ended so quickly—what felt like overnight, really. In just a matter of months, he was gone. That was back in 2017 (I think that date is correct). Since that summer, I haven’t seen or heard from him. Not even during COVID when I reached out - he did not reply. I knew he meant business, but I did think that he could be reached out to for a reply during the darkest era of the last five years. Nothing. Silence. Let him know that I am on holiday in Ontario and would be free to meet up and would love to see you - no return.

Was it a long span of years for him to muster up the courage to walk away - hard for him in that way, did he worry about the friendship or to what level did he feel and think about ending it? Why didn't he talk to me about things and give a chance to mend or heal and make amends and so on? Nothing. Just ended it. Cut me off. 

I was never given any actual reason other than he thought I was an asshole, and you changed and not for the better, his words and did not want to be my friend - my words. He was right; I could be an asshole at times. But I thought, "Who isn't an ass from time to time in long-standing friendships?"

Every relationship experiences its ups and downs. I can ride the waves, adjusting with the ebb and flow. But not him. No ups or downs for him—he tuned out and turned off the flow entirely. Maybe his ups and downs and processing it all was done as a solo man - he was a private man - generally played close to the chest. He decided to do what was best for his life. 

It’s a strange feeling when someone decides to remove you from their life, especially when you're told you're no longer needed. It's like being unexpectedly let go after decades of loyal service. They take time to think it over, and then make a decision to tell you to leave them alone. Can you imagine that? Maybe he was in pain, and it was hard for him. I wish I could believe that, despite the abruptness and detachment in how it happened.

Maybe, though, that was his way of coping after knowing me for so long. If he's been stuck in a long, drawn-out battle with himself, he may have lost his courage and retreated, carrying on in pain. Just a thought. Maybe it was quick and random, and he felt good about it so he did not look back?

There's a film directed by Martin McDonagh, The Banshees of Inisherin (2022), an Irish tragicomedy about a man who ends his lifelong friendship with his best friend. The film explores the intricacies of male friendship and the heartache of such a breakup (Wikipedia). I highly recommend it. Recently, I watched The Accidental Tourist (1988), directed and co-produced by Lawrence Kasdan, and for some reason, its storyline & some scenes began to resonate with my own experiences with my best friend. 

There seems to be something deeper in the narratives of both films worth reflecting on. I found myself crying during several scenes – yes, I actually sat alone in my room at home, watching the movies and crying. 

By 2023, I stopped reaching out. No more texts, no emails, no more calls. And now, as I reflect on it all, I’m starting to come to terms with the idea that it might really be over—that I may never see him again. The sadness I feel runs deep and is almost impossible to describe. Even I barely recognize it. It’s so unfamiliar, layered, and complex that it leaves me lost in my own puzzling corner of the world, trying to make sense of what happened.

It’s a long and sorrowful story, one that doesn’t need to be recounted in full.

From his perspective our friendship, I conclude, had simply stopped working. But for me, it was so much more—it was like family. I believed we shared a bond strong enough to withstand the tensions and wear of life. I thought no matter what happened, we’d always find a way back to each other. Even after he told me to leave his life, I held onto the hope that someday we’d reconnect.

I hoped that he would attend my kid’s weddings, and that one day I would have the honor of being his best man. I envisioned him being part of the joy of my kids having kids, and us sharing in his happiness as a father and grandfather.

I would be thrilled to have him be my best man again at my wedding in Thailand. Wouldn't that be simply the best-man thing ever?

We would grow older together, so to speak. I always thought that kind of life would come with a brother—my best friend, lifelong buddy and pal was my brother to me because, in truth, I don’t have a best friend anymore. Now I have an estranged brother. To me, it feels like having the brother I always wanted but he left me. Is that what brothers do? I hope not. So, in that sense, he’s not my brother, he was a friend. And that friendship, like others too, has ended.

But now, it feels like our paths won’t cross again—not because I don’t want them to, but because he seems determined to make sure they won’t. If we ever did run into each other, it would likely be by pure chance, not by choice or effort. That thought makes me feel sick because, if it did happen, I can’t help but wonder—what would it be like?

Would he ignore me or nod in acknowledgment? Be courteous and basic? Would he extend a hand or his heart, or would he pretend not to see me, letting himself off the hook for everything that happened and all the hurt it caused? Would he scurry away hoping to not be seen? To be fair, I hurt him too—a lot. Let’s be clear about that. Would I call out to him? Follow him? Run after him? Plead with him? Gosh, I really don't know what will happen. It’s hard to create a picture. I think I would call out to him and wave and believe at the same time that he responds.

If we did meet, would we stand there in an awkward silence? Or would one of us break the ice with, “How the hell have you been?” or even, “...Shit, man, I miss you. Can I buy you a drink?” That feels more like a fantasy than a possibility—at least as things stand now. I would not apologize for my wrongdoing because I already did that, many times. No more of that - I just want my best friend back in my life. 

Maybe I’m being prepared for that day when we do unexpectedly meet, and this spiral of thoughts is my way of rehearsing for it. Deep down, I welcome it. I’d love to see him again, to give him a big, long hug, and say, “I miss you, I need you, I love you. Can we start over—or start something new—and just see where it goes? Let's hang out for a while and do what we used to do, see what happens next.” Something like that. Not relive the past but just be friends again, today. Most people can relate.

He’d then make snarky, witty, and intellectual comments in his gravelly voice—his humor had a George Carlin vibe—and we’d carry on, just like family. I’d laugh, he’d smile, and then we’d sit quietly for a while until it was time to pour another drink. I miss him terribly. I just realized that we didn’t argue or debate all that much—an interesting new thought to include in my next reflection on this topic. 

I know what I need to do next. I have to stop missing him—that will help. More importantly, I need to stop wondering if he misses me or even thinks about me. That kind of thinking isn’t healthy. Deep down inside, hush, I know he misses me. Right?

Was I really all that terrible to have as a friend?