He kept sending postcards after I stopped answering

Dear Delyara, During depression, I stopped replying to my closest friend. Calls felt impossible, messages accumulated, and each unanswered one made the next reply harder. He eventually stopped texting questions. Instead, once a week, a postcard arrived. No demand for an answer. A bad drawing, a joke, a photograph of somewhere ordinary. One said only, “Saw a dog wearing boots. You would hate it.” Another had a recipe for soup. He sent thirty-seven postcards. I kept every one in a shoebox and answered none. When treatment began helping and I finally called, the first thing I said was, “I’m sorry.” He replied, “You don’t owe postage.” Yesterday, on the anniversary of that first call, I mailed him postcard number thirty-eight. On the back, I wrote, “Saw a dog wearing boots. You were right. Still terrible.” Friendship did not rescue me from depression. It gave me a thread that remained loose enough not to become another obligation I could fail.