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I have fond memories of two women with whom I studied abroad in fall 1985. We were in Rome.
One woman went to the same college as me and we stayed friends when we got back to our campus in Connecticut. We kept in touch after graduation. For years, she would call me on my birthday. I’d pick up the phone and she’d just say “Ciao Maria” and I knew exactly who it was. She was a bit mysterious and I typically had to wait for her to call me. I rarely had contact info for her. And then, after a number of years, she vanished. No social media profile, no alumni directory info, not on LinkedIn. I really don’t know what happened to her. I miss her sometimes, but whenever I’ve googled her, I come up empty. (I once sent off an email to what I thought might’ve been her work address, but never heard back.)
The other woman was my roommate in Rome. We didn’t go to the same college, but got along great. She went to an Ivy League school and was planning to become a doctor. We did not keep in touch after Rome, but I was always grateful to have had her there with me. Welp, I googled her this week and found out she’s a renowned plastic surgeon with her own skincare line. She’s helped all kinds of people—from burn victims to trans people needing gender-affirming care. She’s got a podcast and does all kinds of great work in the wellness arena too.
I reached out via instagram and she was happy to hear from me. We then texted a bit and I sent her some old photos from our time abroad. Perhaps we’ll get together at some point, but probably not. It’s been over 40 years since I’ve seen her. I had forgotten that two of the other women in the program were friends of hers from high school. She said the three of them “see each other all the time.”
I’m left feeling both completely inferior (a renowned plastic surgeon!) and sad that I lost my real friend from Rome (the one I stayed in touch with for years) while she’s still palling around with her old friends.
Sometimes you should just let the past stay in the past, I guess. Maybe that’s the lesson.
50 Happens 