This is going to be a really raw post, so forgive me in advance while I work out these feelings ...
There are many things that are difficult to accept about losing Abby. I think one of the hardest is the loss of friendships. I have lost three of my "closest" friends in one way or another. One simply stopped calling me. She was my best friend from the time I was 4 years old and the only friendship to survive childhood all the way to adulthood. We were in each other's weddings, at each other's children's births (except Abby), walked through the death of her father, mother and a close family "mother" like friend. I even went with her to her divorce hearing. Our last conversation was over the phone the week of Abby's funeral. She was going to bring us dinner that night, but called to say she was sick and didn't want to spread her germs "under the circumstances" and I never heard from her again. That was almost 16 months ago. Since then, she has gotten married and is going to celebrate her 40th birthday this year, probably without me. She has gone on with life without looking back. And for no apparent reason. I don't know why she left at the one time in my life that I needed her most. The only other time I needed her as much was when I broke up with my boyfriend of 7 years in 1994. I don't know if I said or did something to offend her. Or if she was just scared or unsure of what to say or do. Or even if she just couldn't deal with it and then too much time passed and she was afraid I wouldn't forgive her. I don't know!? What I do know is that it hurts.
Another friend tried to be supportive, and in the beginning was. We were both pregnant at the same time and her son was born 2 1/2 months before Abby. We had planned to raise these babies together, just as we had done with our other children. But, in time, she said and did all the wrong things and got angry with me when I expressed those things that were hard for me. It wasn't so much about the things she did wrong as it was her attitude about it. Every time I said what I needed, I was met with a tone of frustration and impatience, like I was asking too much of her. In fact, at one time she said she just couldn't always remember to ask how I was doing anymore. Sometimes she just "forgot." When it became too much for me to overlook her inability to support me in the way I needed, I took a break from the relationship. A few months later I was ready to reconcile, but started hearing rumors about what I had done to her. She was telling anyone and everyone about how I rejected her and how mean I was. I finally received a hurtful letter on my birthday, the first without Abby, confirming the rumors and basically saying "happy birthday, but did you know what an awful friend you are?" The whole letter was about what I had done to her and there was no personal responsibility, care or concern for how I was doing in the midst of my grief. No, "I am so sorry I hurt you, Emily!" Just, "You are a bad person for rejecting me!" Oh and by the way, "I miss your friendship!" After much counseling, praying, and thinking about it, I decided not to invest a lot of emotional energy in working on the relationship, but to focus my energy on what I was already doing: grieving the death of my child and trying to get pregnant again. My counselor agreed, that took energy enough. She said that my grief was like a load of heavy books and that people could either lift off and carry one for me, lightening my load, or add another to the pile, making it heavier. My friend was definately adding more than she was taking and there was no room in my life at that time for friends who couldn't provide the support I needed or added to my grief. So, it was over.
That leads me to the last friend. We had a conflict just a few months after Abby's death over a blog she posted that made me feel that she was comparing our losses and was actually jealous that I held and buried Abby (she lost a baby in 2003 at 12 weeks). She had already hurt me with comparisons and trying to console me using her experience with loss, but I tried hard to overlook it. I know that the pain of her loss was real and deep and I didn't want to minimize her pain, but always comparing and relating her miscarriage experience to losing my daughter at birth was not helping me. It was only making me angry. I couldn't relate to her feelings and more than anything, I just needed her to listen and love me through it. After I blew up at her, she fought with me intensly to justify her loss and minimize mine. I finally ended the conflict and asked her not to write, call or email me again. The truth is we both needed a validation that neither of us could give the other. She later wrote a heartfelt blog about how deeply she regretted her words and wished she could take them back, and how she wished she could just show up at my house and let me know how sorry she was for hurting me. That meant so much to me and after a few weeks of, again, counseling, praying and thinking about it, I made an attempt to mend the friendship. I guess the damage had been done, though, because the friendship has never been the same. She continues to say hurtful things, whether she is aware of it or not. Most recently she made a comment that my period being late could be because of menopause! After I defended myself and gave all the reasons why I disagree (for one, I am only 37), she actually began to argue with me about why I could be wrong! It wasn't exactly a supportive, encouraging comment to give someone who, in light of months of failed fertility treatments and surgery, is facing the possibility that I might not be able to get pregnant again. While I don't think she is trying to hurt me, I do think the relationship is so full of insecurity, fear and distrust that it can't be what it was before and it's not good for me right now. So, I have again decided I need to back away from this friend. At least for now.
My three "best" friends are gone. One by her choice, one by my choice, and one because there is no other choice. None of these friendships are or can be what they once were. I am realizing that. They just are what they are. I can't do justice to what has happened in all of these relationships on a simple blog. Suffice it to say, they have been less than supportive or encouraging. And I desperately need loving, supportive people who will be patient with me while I continue to realize the "new normal" of my life and complete the journey through secondary infertility, with or without success. Working on relationships is too hard while I'm doing daily injections and going though the emotional rollercoaster of trying to conceive again. And, I am still grieving. I only need positive, uplifting people who can and want to continue to help carry this burden for me. People who are willing to carry some of my books without giving me any of theirs!
My sister has always been one of those people, but she moved out of state in January and now I hardly see her, let alone talk to her. My sister-in-law has proven to be one of those people, too, but she lives 45 minutes away; hardly someone I can just go visit on a whim. I have lots of acquaintances, and many who have genuinely expressed deep care and concern for me, but there are very few who "get me" and still want to be a supportive part of my life. Right now, I am feeling alone and abandoned by those who said they loved me and called me "best friend." No one knows how lonely the road of infertility is. I walked it once before and I'm walking it once again. Adding losing a child and losing three friends compounds the grief and pain. I am thankful I have at least two people in my life that love me enough to complete this journey with me and help carry my "books." That should be enough. But part of me just can't let go of those who have let me down. I am not angry. I am just so disappointed. And I can't let it go.
So, tonight I write this just to get it off my chest. Not to be analyzed. Not to be criticized. Just to put it somewhere that it's not weighing so heavy on my heart. Maybe someone will read it. Maybe no one will read it. But now it's out there. And it is what it is. Only God can change it. And maybe, in time, He will help it heal or, instead, teach me to just let it go.
