When They Just Disappear – The Silence That Hurts the Most

Vera is laying two feet from me—sleeping away what little life she has left.
And it hit me just now… how incredibly sad it is that so many people who once called her “friend,” “family,” even “sister,” have disappeared.

I expected a lot of things on this journey.
The grief.
The exhaustion.
The heartbreak of watching the woman I love fade piece by piece.

But what I didn’t expect…
Was the silence.

The people who were once in her life—friends, family, lifelong connections—just gone.

No phone call.
No visit.
No card.
Not even a damn text.

I’ve since learned there’s a word for this:
They call it “disengaging.”

Some say it’s because they “can’t handle” the disease.
That it’s “too hard to see her like that.”
That “we all grieve in our own particular ways”.
That it’s “painful” or “awkward” or “uncomfortable.”

You know what? That may be their reason…but it’s not an excuse. 
Love doesn’t vanish when things get hard.
And if I had felt that way—
if I had let fear or discomfort lead…
Who would be taking care of Vera—your mother, your so-called “sister”, your lifelong friend—the woman who never stopped showing up for you?

You don’t get to disappear just because it’s hard for you.
You don’t get to vanish while someone who gave her life to others and YOU sits alone, confused, slowly slipping away.

You don’t get to stay gone and then show up at a funeral acting like you cared.

What breaks me the most, though,
isn’t the silence from old friends.
It’s the absence from some of the people Vera loved most—
her own sons.

She raised three kids, one daughter, 2 sons as a single mom.
No help, financial or otherwise, from their father.
She worked multiple jobs, sacrificed everything, and poured herself into making sure they had a shot at a better life.

She showed up—every time.
Every game. Every track meet. Every school function and event.  Every recital. Every scraped knee. Every broken heart.  Every run-in with the law.
She paid for school. Supported them long after. Held them up—again and again—when life knocked them down.

And now?
She’s disappearing by the day…
And too often, it feels like they’ve disappeared too.

I want to be careful here.
I know life is busy.
We all have responsibilities, kids, jobs, bills, stress.
And I don’t pretend to have the answer—
There’s no handbook for this kind of heartbreak.

Her daughter, God bless her, tries—the very best she can.
She lives across the country with two small kids and a husband pursuing his PhD.
She makes time. She’s visited. She calls.
She even offered for us to relocate to live near her so she could help.
And I’m so very grateful. I see it. I honor it.

But for the sons…

This is your mother.
The woman who gave everything.
What if she had given you the same silence that’s now surrounding her?
What if she had said, “I’m just too busy”?  Or, “I just can’t handle seeing them him way”?

We never asked for money.
We never asked if your mom could move in with you.
We never asked you to share in the tasks of caregiving.

But we did ask—to the point of “begging”—for a call.
A card.
A visit. Perhaps a Birthday, Mother’s Day, or Christmas gift—nothing monetary; even a hand-drawn piece of art or a precious moment captured by a photograph would’ve been treasured.

A moment to say: “Mom, you still matter, I love you!”

Because you only get one chance.
One shot to love someone while they’re still here.
To remind them that their life counted.
That they’re not forgotten.

And for her friends?  Who all but a precious few, abandoned her when she needed you the most…                         

She noticed the silence—although she would never speak of it due to the immense love she has for everyone. 

She said it with a voice that shook me to my core:

“I don’t want a funeral. If they didn’t care enough to come see me when I was alive—why would I care if they come after I’m gone?”

That wasn’t anger. That was heartbreak.
The kind of heartbreak that never should’ve been hers to carry.

Maybe this hits home.
Maybe you’ve pulled away from someone struggling.
Maybe you’ve stayed silent because you didn’t know what to say.

Say this:

“I haven’t forgotten you.”
“I still care.”
“You matter.”

Because saying something, anything is always better than saying nothing.

It costs nothing.
But it means everything.

Don’t wait for the obituary.
Don’t bring flowers if you couldn’t bring time.

Show up while it counts.
Because once they’re gone…
The silence will echo back.
And you won’t get another chance.