S, I am sorry.

I am going to a funeral tomorrow for a woman who was more a part of my family than most of my family is to me. This seems to be a trend in my life, given how selfish and distant most of my relatives are and how amazing many of the people who willingly entered and stayed in my life are. Sadly, I have not seen this particular friend in several years, though in this case the distance was the fault of my own selfishness.
I admit to being terrible at keeping up with friends from far away. Even with all the ease the Internet and text messaging have brought to long distance communication, I tend to reduce myself to simply *liking* the post of someone I care about and scrolling on, as though that is enough to keep a friendship going. It's not, and I know from multiple experiences. And each of those experiences hurt me, but I haven't changed. I can't seem to develop the energy and ambition to consistently keep up with my friendships. Sometimes I blame this on my depressive periods. Sometimes I blame my job which involves talking all day and therefore makes me loathe to do so in my hours off the clock. Sometimes I blame the fact that I am as close to a modern day hermit as you can get while still remaining gainfully employed (I have to take vitamin D to get a little sunshine in my day) and most chats inevitably lead to the perky, "we should get together sometime". It's even worse when people name a specific time, because then I can't go with my equally perky and extremely vague response of "Yeah, sometime would be great. I really miss you. Oops, looks like it's time for the dog's allergy medicine. Gotta go!".
It's not that I don't love my friends, or enjoy their company. I really do. I don't know what it is that creates this intense dislike in me for making plans to go hang out. I just have always preferred to stay inside where my books and my dogs and my boyfriend are all within reaching distance and there's never any awkward lulls in conversation or need to do the "separate checks dance". And the people in my life suffer from my craving the comforts of being left alone, just as I suffer when I learn of their permanent departure from my life because they can't put up with me anymore or, in S's case, because of lung failure and the length of the transplant list.
So I will go to her funeral tomorrow and I will cry like the baby I was the first time this kind friend of mine held me. But a lot of those tears will be guilty ones, because I should have been there long before now, holding her hand at the hospital bedside. I should have picked out get well cards instead of a black dress. I should have brought flowers instead of laying them on the ground now.