We expect to lose grandparents, and we know that marriages sometimes lead to divorce. But few of us are prepared for the grief when a friendship ends.
Old friendships are valuable because forming new ones becomes more difficult as we age. As adults, we don’t have the kind of time that we did as kids. Childhood friendships grew out of endless hours in classrooms, bus rides, and sleepovers — there were countless days talking, comparing notes, and developing into the people we were becoming. Our relationships had time to steep and deepen.
I was reminded of that recently when I saw a friend I'd known in elementary and middle school, but hadn’t seen since my 20s. I was on a tour for my book Morning Leaves, speaking at the bookstore in her town. Unexpectedly, she invited me and my husband to spend the night. This is someone I hadn’t seen in 30 years and who had never met my husband. But she said the invitation came thanks to a “sisterhood” we formed in those early years. And she was right: Sharing stories over dinner felt completely natural. Within hours, three decades disappeared.
We’ve been told over and over about the importance of community, and research confirms it. The Harvard Study of Adult Development, one of the longest-running studies on human well-being, has found that people live longer, healthier, and happier lives when they’re surrounded by caring relationships.
Because friendships are so precious, they require care. But unlike family and marital relationships that are bound by social obligations and legal contracts, friendships are purely voluntary. They require us to check in, show up during difficult moments, and remember the milestones that matter. And when life gets busy — and priorities shift, values diverge, and reciprocity fades — some friendships slowly drift apart. No one is necessarily at fault.
Other times, there are much bigger ruptures: an argument, a betrayal, a loss of trust, or a chasm caused by differing political or social views. Whatever the cause, the loss can be profound. Especially when it's not mutual.
Whether gradual or sudden, there's often grief associated with the loss of a longtime friend. It can be painful to lose someone who shares your history. It can even be embarrassing that the relationship you thought would last forever has ended.
The loss of a friend often blindsides us, leaving behind sorrow we never expected. And that type of grief can feel particularly painful and strangely lonely, because there are few social rituals to acknowledge it. No casseroles arrive, and no condolence cards are sent. Yet the sadness is every bit as real.
In many ways, our friendships define who we are: They are the people who make us feel significant and help give our lives meaning. They know our history, flaws, fears, and aspirations. They remember who we were before our careers, marriages, successes, and disappointments. They carry pieces of our story that no one else can fully tell. Without them we may lose a sense of continuity.
Not every friendship loss is permanent. Longstanding relationships have deep roots, and sometimes time, maturity, and forgiveness make reconnection possible.
But even when a friendship truly ends, its value is not erased. Perhaps we place too much emphasis on whether a friendship lasts forever and too little on what it gave us while it was here. Some friends are with us for only a short time — others accompany us for decades. They shape our values, expand our perspectives, share in our joy, and help carry us through difficult chapters.
The grief we feel is a reflection of the love, trust, and meaning the friendship once held. And perhaps that's the gift hidden within that loss: a reminder that meaningful connection is one of life's greatest treasures.
Old friends offer something irreplaceable; they remember who we were over time. But newer friendships offer a gift of their own: They meet us where we are now. They reflect the values we've embraced, the lessons we've learned, and the people we've become.
While we may grieve the absence of someone who shared our past, we can also remain open to those who'll share our future. Yes, there's pain in that ending, but also hope — in knowing that we can find meaningful connections in any chapter of our lives.
Laing Rikkers is the award-winning author of Morning Leaves: Cultivating a Life of Beauty, Meaning, and Joy. Drawing on a career that spans human resources, private equity, and entrepreneurship, Rikkers brings a deeply human perspective to change and growth. Through writing, grief workshops, and keynote speaking, Rikkers helps individuals and communities transform loss into self-awareness and renewed joy.
