Why Old Friends Matter Most

The week began in the shadows—thoughts of Abi, Ella, and Sally never far from my mind. Their absence echoed everywhere. But somewhere midweek, something began to shift. I found myself lifted—not by distraction, but by the quiet anticipation of seeing three old friends.

I met Bobby, Henry, and Rawdon during Fresher’s Week at Edinburgh University. Back then, we were just students meeting over pints at The Pear Tree, unsure of ourselves, forming the kind of friendships you don’t realise will shape the decades ahead.

Since then, there’ve been partners and breakups, flats and festivals, big birthdays, weddings and babies. And threaded through it all, a quiet constancy: this friendship that’s held us through joy and through loss.

They were there when my mother died. When Henry’s father passed. They were at our wedding. And now they’re flying across the world, leaving their families and lives behind, simply to be here. To stand beside us. To bear witness to the unthinkable.

And I realise: it’s not the distance they’ve travelled that moves me. It’s the time. The effort. The endurance. Their presence stretches a line between past and present, pain and hope.

Bronnie Ware, an Australian palliative care nurse, once wrote about the regrets of the dying. One of the most common? “I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.” She wrote of how many people only realise too late how important old friendships are—and how hard they are to recover if lost.

I think of that often.

Because friendship isn’t a luxury. It’s one of the few things that holds when the ground gives way. So thank you Bobby, Henry, and Rawds—for every effort, every shared silence, and every reminder that we’re not meant to do life alone.