Death of an RPG Group
In 2022, I lost my best friend to cancer. We did everything together, including gaming.
Years earlier, he introduced me to a small group: one guy had a best friend who loved RPGs, who lived next to someone who wanted to DM after decades away, who knew a teacher who also played regularly, and just like that, our little RPG group was born.
Our DM had a vision: a sweeping campaign that would take us nearly to Level 20. And for years, it worked. We met every other Monday without fail. Even during COVID, we jumped on Zoom and kept the campaign alive. Vacations, work conflicts, family obligations, layoffs — even a global pandemic — we managed it all. We rarely missed a session. When the DM needed a recharge, we filled the gap with one-shots or board games and stayed connected.
Then 2022 hit. We lost our friend, but we kept going. Another occasional player became a regular. We carried on because that’s what you do. But we still managed for a few more years. But then, slowly, something shifted.
The campaign stalled. Life crept in. People drifted. We found ourselves only 4–6 sessions from the end, from End Game, but somehow further away than ever. Over the past year, we barely played. The DM needed a break for real-life reasons, but we never sat down and made a plan. Instead, we defaulted to random one-shots, board games, or last-minute cancellations. The phrase “we need to talk” popped up in the group text every few weeks. But we never actually did.
Meanwhile, half the group was meeting on alternate Mondays, playing different systems with rotating GMs, keeping things consistent. A few weeks ago, someone floated the idea of going weekly with that game group. Last night, as we stood outside in the cold after another one-shot, it came up again.
We are still friends and enjoy playing with each other, but it was clear that half the group was ready to move forward, and the other half was quietly left behind. The conversation was brief, almost midnight, standing outside by the cars, in cold temps, no real back-and-forth. Just nods. A few “good nights.” And then a long, quiet drive home for me.
Not all of us get the ending of Stranger Things. I can’t remember a gaming group of mine that ever got a proper final goodbye. It usually starts with one or two people drifting away. Then schedules shift. Other interests take over. There’s no cinematic ending — no final look at the character sheet, no slow fade as the party walks into tomorrow together. Just a vague “let’s try to meet monthly,” followed by silence. Almost 10 years together, ending quietly, with us marinating on what they were suggesting/doing.
Maybe that’s the hardest part, not that the story ended, but that we never got to roll the dice one last time and say goodbye on our own terms.