“Poppy” is my favorite contact in my phone. Poppy is short for Pop Pop, a southern label for grandfather. I don’t think there has been a day since I got my first phone where Poppy and I haven’t spoken. Poppy is my closest family member and my bestest friend, but he lives 4 hours away. 

At some point, our calls changed. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but one day, fifteen-minute conversations turned into five. Then five turned into two. I used to call and hear excitement in his voice. We’d swap stories, joke about his golf game, talk about everything and nothing at the same time. But lately, silence stretches between us. I ask how he’s feeling. He says, fine. I ask what he’s been up to. Not much. The pauses grow longer, and I’m the one who always ends the call now.

Poppy doesn’t call me much any more. Our calls have faded in personality and length, the memory of my best friend with it. That’s what happens when age catches up to a person. But I never thought the age would catch up to Poppy. 

Recently I spent my spring break hanging out with Poppy. Visiting him was different this time. The shell of a person I noticed on the phone was a shell of a person in real life.

The man who loved to eat was thin. The man who was energetic was always tired. The man who was active could hardly walk. The man who loved to talk was quiet. 

What struck me most was the quietness of the room. It wasn’t just the absence of sound, but how much it spoke about his health. There was no conversation, no laughter, no shuffling around in the kitchen. Time didn’t stand still with him in the room. Time proved its effectiveness. 

I tell myself it will get better because he’s getting help. But deep down, I know age doesn’t work that way—it only moves forward. As we continue to get older, everyone slowly fades away around us, even our best friends sometimes.  

I wish I could go back to two years ago with Poppy. I wish I could play golf or basketball with him again. I wish I could talk to him like I used to. I wish I could look at him or hear him and not be sad. 

Every time I talk to him I worry it could be the last. Why do I not feel that way with other people? 

I suppose that’s the perk of loving someone. You will always notice the little things that no one else can. You will be emotionally susceptible to their biggest struggles. You will experience their highest of highs and lowest of lows. You will notice when they aren’t the same person anymore. 

I would define best friends as people who love each other unconditionally, experience various forms of happiness together, and showcase empathy towards each other at all times. 

Poppy isn’t the same person he used to be, but he is still my best friend. We may not be able to experience happiness together as much, but I know he loves me unconditionally.

Without a cell phone, I wouldn’t have my best friend.  A best friend keeps calling, even when the voice on the other end becomes a whisper. Even when it’s painful, even when it feels like goodbye.