Friendship After Loss

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.

Another Friendship is Dying

Not sure where to post this, being that I am in my 2nd year of grief and haven't posted in awhile and it's more related to infertility/ttc than anything. I have lurked occasionally, but just haven't done much posting. I think of many of you often, but being here too much keeps my grief at a level that isn't really good for me. I'm just trying so hard to live in a positive place (out of the pit) as much as possible while still on what has become a long ttc journey. Sometimes being here is just too painful. I hope you all understand!!

Hopefully those of you who have been around awhile will remember my dilemma with my friend last fall. Well, another friendship seems to be dying. I had a similar conflict with this friend around the same time as the conflict with my other friend last spring and I took a "break" from both friendships to sort things out. But this friend actually seemed to really want to make the effort to fix things (and I felt the same), while the other friendship was really unfixable. After a lot of counseling (and sound advice from all of you), I ended the other friendship last fall and it got ugly before it was over. Her heart towards me was revealed and I was thankful to know that I made the right decision. I just regret that she wasn't willing to take responsibility for her part in the relationship and love me at a time that I wasn't able to give back. I have forgiven her, but I don't feel compelled to pursue reconciliation at this time. Anyway ...

This other friend has been really insensitive in the eight or so months since I welcomed her back into my life after our conflict. At first, I tried hard to dismiss the comments, but found that they affected me more than I was willing to admit. Several times I confronted those feelings and asked her to be more sensitive, trying to explain why they made me feel the way I did. At times I felt that maybe I was being overly sensitive, but she considers me her "best friend" so I felt I should be able to share my heart with her. And she expressed wanting to work on the relationship, so it seemed only fair to be honest about how she was making me feel. She had stopped asking how I was doing with ttc and my grief and, whenever I did bring it up, she would change the subject and talk about herself or someone she knew who was pregnant. "Oh, did you know this person is pregnant" or "that person is pregnant?" She had a 12-week miscarriage and it took 6 months for her to get pg again, so I figured she would know to be more sensitive (she was the friend last year who fought with me over whose grief was worse). Her loss was over 4 years ago, so I thought this was a time she should be there for me. I have a history of infertility and have been trying to get pg again for over a year now. She knows that. She walked through it with me then and knows the hurt feelings I had when I didn't know if I'd ever have children. So, I couldn't understand why she couldn't see that her comments were hurtful. But, after letting her know how I felt, I kept trying to make the friendship work.

Things seemed to be getting better lately, but now I realize that it has only been as long things remain mostly superficial between us. As long as we don't talk about Abby, my grief, or my trying to get pg again/infertility, we're fine. Most of the time. Usually I just avoid being alone (or on the phone) with her for any length of time and give her a million excuses as to why we can't get together or talk. But today it just felt right to see her again. I even prayed after thinking about calling her, "Lord, if you want me to see her today, please have HER call ME!" And right after I prayed that, she did! I took it as a sign and went to lunch so we could let our boys play. She surprised me yet again ...

I am on CD 37 and AF hasn't shown yet after having surgery earlier this month to treat my endometriosis, so I'm waiting to ttc again. When I told her, she actually said that it could be MENOPAUSE and that women who take fertility drugs tend to experience "the change" earlier than women who don't (we've been doing infertility treatments for 4 months and took them to conceive our son almost 5 years ago). When, stunned, I said, "Uh, no I'm only 37," she actually started ARGUING with me and telling me about all kinds of people in her family who started menopause when they were in their late 30s/early 40s. I defended myself and said that my mom didn't go through the change until her 50s and that my sister was 42 and had no signs of it yet. I even told her that my grandmother, who lost a baby at term and a 9 year old son, had her rainbow baby when she was 40 ... and she continued arguing with me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! She was like, "Well, I don't know if you can depend on that, people in my family didn't follow the same pattern. It's not always genetic." I was furious, but I kept my cool. Telling me and arguing that this could be "the change" is certainly not something an encouraging friend would say right now! I finally just said that I didn't think that was the problem, that I was sure that Sarah (from the Bible) had already gone through menopause when she got pg with Isaac, and that I wasn't worried about it. "God is in control! I'm not worried!!!!" I hope she got the hint. But I was really shocked at what she said. And it hurt me that she didn't even think about it being insensitive.

Anyway, I have really wrestled with whether or not to continue this friendship over the last 15 1/2 months. It has been a very difficult relationship since our conflict last May, but I really wanted to try to make it work. But I can't help but feeling like she is either completely and totally STUPID and has no idea of how insensitive she is ... OR she is actually TRYING to hurt me!!! I mean, you don't say something like that to someone whose baby died and is experiencing secondary infertility on top of it! Is it just me, or is that common sense? I was just livid over it today. I've calmed down tonight, although writing about it is bringing the anger back to the surface a little bit (in case you didn't notice, lol). I just want to know, am I overreacting? Should I continue a friendship with someone I've confronted over and over and still doesn't seem to care about my feelings? I feel like it's draining all my energy to have her in my life or to even spend time thinking about this when I'm trying to stay positive. Kind of how I felt about my other friend. I am still going through so much, trying to get pg and not succeeding has only added to and prolonged my grief. Can't she see that? Part of me says to continue doing what I have been doing and just blow off her invitations and phone calls. The other part wants to tell her how I feel and hope that she's not like the other friend and will actually put my feelings first. Anyway, I know this has been long (like my posts usually are, lol), but thank you if you've gotten this far. I really hope you can help me know what to do about this friendship.

The Rollercoaster

My favorite movie of all time is "Parenthood" with Steve Martin. I absolutely love every second of that movie and could watch it over and over again. But I remember one part in particular that strikes me every time I watch it. It's probably the reason I love the movie. There is a scene where Martin and his wife are arguing about their chaotic, out-of-control, "messed up" life in front of his wife's grandmother right before their son's play. The grandmother interrupts the argument to tell this story about the rollercoaster. She says, "I love the rollercoaster. It goes up and down and up and down. It's so exhilarating!" He rolls his eyes and says, "Gee, thanks Grandma!" and stomps off like a 3-year old boy. Next thing you know, he is in the audience during his 8 year old son's play and everything goes awry. His own 3-year old sneaks up onto the stage and ruins the play, the set comes crashing down, kids are screaming and running everywhere and the audience is laughing hysterically. As we are watching this scene, the ticking of a rollercoaster going up the incline to the big hill plays in the background and the camera zooms in on Martin, making it look like he is on the ride. His teeth are clenched and he is whiteknuckled to his chair through the hysteria with his eyes tightly shut, hoping it would soon be over. His wife, on the other hand, is laughing out loud and thoroughly enjoying the thrill of the chaos surrounding them. Finally, he loosens his grip as we hear the rush of the rollercoaster flying down the big hill and people screaming with delight and, finally, a smile breaks on his face and he starts enjoying "the ride." Could it be that I am finally enjoying the ride? Or is it that God has finally letting me feel the strength He has been meticulously building in me over these last grueling almost 15 months? Whatever it is, I sit here today facing surgery and the uncertainty of whether or not I will ever conceive another child of my own, yet I am full of joy, expectation and peace. I am exhilarated at the possibilities of the future and enjoying the present. And I'm refusing to live in the pit. Is this what Paul meant when he said, "I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances?" It is definately something that is learned and does not come naturally. Anyway, nothing is certain right now except that God is still on His throne and He holds the future in His hands. So, for now, I am riding the rollercoaster and supernaturally trusting Him for a safe landing ...

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." ~ Jeremiah 29:11-13

The Long & Winding Road

As Benjamin and I were driving home tonight, we got caught in standstill traffic that was caused by a major accident. A compact car and semi had nearly collided on Route 50 near Dry Run and both had run off the road, blocking the intersection. At first, Benjamin was fascinated by the lights and action, but as I watched the clock, I realized I really needed to get this boy home and to bed, so I decided to take a detour. We passed the three or four cars ahead of us on the opposite side of the road and cautiously turned right in front of them onto Dry Run, which I thought would take us about 10 minutes out of our way, but at least we'd be moving. So we began to wind up down and all around in the pitch darkness towards our destination. As we made each curve, the road got narrower and narrower until there was barely enough room for one car to travel safely. Then the pavement got patchy and bumpy and the car began to shake, all the while twisting and turning up the dark path ahead. At points, I wasn't sure I had made the right choice. Was this road really leading where I had thought? Or would I end up in the completely opposite direction from where I had intended? My confidence dimmed until we started uphill in a familiar direction. I could see the light ahead ... it was Route 133 ... we were almost home! All of a sudden, I wrapped my mind around what had just happened to us. The accident, with all it's flashing lights and danger, had sent us down an unfamiliar path into the darkness. We knew where we would end up, but not what would happen along the way. There were times we weren't sure we were going in the right direction and the road was rough, but we finally made it and our fears were relieved. As I think about this 20 minute adventure, I feel that still, quiet voice telling me ... "This is your life. Listen. Learn. It may be dark, narrow and bumpy, but I will bring you safely home."

I am listening, Lord ...

Sorrow

I hate what losing Abby has done to my friendships, my marriage, my parenting, my life. It is like a part of me was ripped out that day and destroyed, never to return. I have spent the last 13 1/2 months trying to find it to no avail. I have come to realize that part of me will hurt like this forever. That some conversations will always be hard. That most people will never understand. That in some ways, I'll never be able to relate to others in the way I once did. There is a part of me that is so changed, that I will never be the same person. I keep looking for that person and keep coming up empty handed. I am drawn to people who are broken and deeply hurting and indifferent to the rest. It's like I just can't relate to people with ordinary problems. I can't relate to the "normal" talk of the day. I spend most days mostly "happy" playing with my son, taking care of him and my husband, our house and the responsibilities that are mine, but there is always a hint of sadness and reminders of what would have been. Not a day goes by that I don't think about what we've lost. And I often feel so ... alone. I have been trying so hard to accept she's not here, but I have come to the realization it's not about accepting losing her, but accepting what my life is without her in it. It's accepting the sadness I often feel about seemingly meaningless things, like adding the birthdays to my 2008 planner the other day. Such a meanial, innocent task. However, as I turned each page of my otherwise whimsically illustrated Mary Engelbreit calendar, all I saw were pictures of mothers and daughters and families of four, little girls dancing and daddies hugging them. I came undone. I am starting to realize that while time numbs the pain, it never really goes away. It's never far from the surface. It lingers there, just waiting for a reason to rise and be known. I can go many days without a tear, but when they flow, it's as if they were the very first ones. I trust God, I believe God, and that does not waiver. But at times these human emotions overtake me and make me feel like I'll never recover. I long for a day when I'll never feel sad again and then I realize that day will only come when Heaven comes for me. As long as I live this life, I will pine for the daughter who is not here, who I did not get to raise, who I held in my arms for only a moment, only long enough to fall completely and irreversibly in love and then only to let go. I said it and I'll say it again ... and again and again ... the sound of my daughter's name may bring tears to my eyes, but it will always bring music to my ears. Speak her name. Don't be afraid to make me cry. I cry secret tears more often then you know. And crying is often the only way to release this sadness I feel. But God holds every tear in His hand and He knows this sorrow I carry in my heart every day. Jesus was "a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief" (Isaiah 53:3-5). He understands. And someday, He will wipe every tear away and I will see my precious little girl's face and hold her in my arms once again.

Sooooooo stressed!!!!!!

I have no idea where to post this, but I am feeling so out of control as Christmas approaches. We started seeing our RE (reproductive endocrinologist) in September after 7 months of ttc on our own with no success. It took 6 years to conceive our son and the RE told us after Abby died to come see him in 6 months if we were unable to conceive on our own. We tried a couple of natural cycles with IUI and just stepped up to daily injectibles. I have an injection every night between 6-8 p.m. Tomorrow I have an u/s at 9 a.m. clear across town and no one to watch my l/c, so I have to get myself and him ready and out the door by 8 a.m. (he usually doesn't even wake up until 7:15). I'll have another one at the end of the week )(they are monitoring me extra closely b/c I had an ovarian cyst rupture two weeks ago). And the IUI will probably be on Christmas Eve this time. Now I am wishing I had skipped this cycle. Isn't Christmas stressful enough without this? I have not even started on Christmas cards (my dh told me to ditch them this year, but I'm really struggling with that). I haven't started wrapping presents, even though I just finished shopping today. I put the pressure on myself to bake cookies, bought all the ingredients, but just can't seem to get my act together. I got a letter from the insurance today saying they are "investigating" the emergency room visit (for the ruptured cyst) and will decide in a few days "what benefits are available" under our plan. Last week we found out our roof is leaking and it will be upwards of $800 to fix. We have just spent hundreds on Christmas presents for mine and dh's family, each other and our l/c and thousands on ttc/infertility. My dh's car has a leak in the roof and water in the trunk and we have no idea where it's coming from. I am freaking out about money. I am sick for the third time this fall/winter. And I feel like everyone has forgotten me and doesn't have any idea what we are going through. Now that Abby's birthday has passed, I feel like everyone expects me to just bounce back to the same old Emily, or maybe I'm putting that expectation on myself? Either way, I feel the pressure. No one asks or seems to understand how stressful ttc has been for us, especially having to relive the infertility issues we've faced in the past, which, had Abby lived, we would never have to face again. No one seems to want to know and when I do talk about it, they seem like I'm overreacting or something. I don't know why I feel so out of control right now. Maybe it's the extra hormones in my system from the injections? Maybe it's Christmas? Maybe it's realizing another year is starting? Maybe I just needed someone to listen and care? I'm not really sure why I posted this, so thanks for reading if you've gotten this far. I'm just feeling alone again. My support system has disappeared and I am really, really stressed out!!!!!!!!!

What A Beautiful Day

Today was Abby's first "heavenly" birthday and what a beautiful day! I could not have asked for a more perfect day. We woke up and had breakfast and a "normal" morning with Benjamin, however, my mind was following the clock in a play by play of everything we were doing "this time last year."

I've been doing that a lot in my mind over the last few days, remembering things like, on Tuesday, I remembered going to my last doctor's appointment at Good Sam followed by a spontaneous trip to the zoo with Chad and Benjamin that Monday, which was also the 27th. We ran into my neighbor from our old house on Wallace Avenue, who didn't even know I was pregnant again. At that point, there was no hiding it ... I was ready to pop! I remember that last conversation with her as if it were yesterday. I spent yesterday, the 28th, remembering the following day, which was the day I went into labor. I had gone to the Cincinnati Museum Center with my friend, Nicole, and her little girl, Ava, and new baby, Aiden, who was 2 months old. We enjoyed being pregnant together and were excited to have two more kids that would grow up together! Benjamin and Ava watched the trains while Nicole and I talked about how much we both couldn't wait until Abby was born, which was just days away, and how she and Aiden would have a relationship like Benjamin and Ava. And then I remembered that night, going into labor. We had just put Benjamin to bed and started watching "The Unit" when my contractions started. I remember thinking, "not yet baby" because I wanted Chad to be off for all of the holidays! He had arranged a long sabbatical to be home with us through the end of December. An early arrival meant he would have to return to work before New Years. But then I couldn't tell if my labor was the real thing or not, so we just took our time figuring everything out and hoping that she wasn't coming just yet. If only I had known to get to the hospital right away instead of waiting those four long hours, maybe she'd be here now? But, of course, I can't think like that.

As I watched the clock last night ... 9:00, my labor started one year ago at this time ... 10:00, I called the doctor one year ago at this time ... 11:00, I called my parents one year ago at this time ... 12:30, my parents arrived one year ago at this time ... 1:00, we left for the hospital one year ago at this time ... 2:00, we arrived and checked into labor and delivery one year ago at this time. And this morning my mind did the same thing ... 7:15 (when we woke up today), I was still in labor one year ago at this time. Then finally at 11:29, my sweet, precious Abby was born one year ago at this time, already an angel, already in Heaven. Not of this world. Strangely, though, as all these thoughts came into my mind over the last 36 hours or so, I have had an overwhelming sense of peace. Chad said when he was at Teen Challenge (where he works) on Tuesday, he walked in on the students praying for us. They were praying fervently for peace over our family and comfort to get us through this week. And we have been told by many others that they have been praying for us, too. All I can say is that I felt it ... we felt it. It's that "peace that surpasses understanding" that you read about in the Bible. It came over us the week of Abby's funeral and we've felt it many times in the last year, but it has been so overwhelming this week as we felt the prayers of others lifting us up out of our grief. We were actually able to enjoy, and be excited about, this day ... and that is no small miracle!

I woke up this morning, excited to do all the things we'd planned to make today special. Yesterday, Benjamin helped me bake a cake for Abby's birthday and we sang "Happy Birthday" and lit a candle for her after lunch today. It was very sweet. Then we spent some time alone, just the three of us, remembering. We looked at her pictures, watched her video and went through the hope chest that now holds all of our memories of Abby and sits in the room that would have been hers. Her blankets, her bears, all of the wonderful sympathy cards, her baby book and memory box ... we looked at everything! And, again, it was so peaceful. We only shed a few tears as we watched the few moments we were able to capture on video of our sweet, precious girl. But they were not heavy tears, like the ones that usually fall. Through the loving prayers of so many , the depth of our pain was being lifted, even if only for a day. Finally, we put Benjamin down for a nap and prepared for the rest of the day's events. When he woke up, we picked up G.G. (great-grandma) and met the rest of our family at the cemetery for a balloon release. I ordered 25 white latex balloons (one for each person) and attached a card to each one that read, "This balloon was released on 11.29.07 in memory of Abigail Graceland Werner, who would have been one year old today. If you find this balloon, please visit: www.abigail-werner.memory-of.com and let us know where it landed and how you found it! Thank you for remembering Abby with us on this very special day!" We said a prayer as a family then sent the balloons soaring through the sky just as the sun began to go down over the horizon. It was perfect and beautiful, just the way we wanted it.

After the balloon release, our family joined us for dinner at a local restaurant. As I visited with each person, I thanked them for the love and support they had given us all year long and for being with us tonight. I don't think I could have faced this night alone. I did not want to go to the cemetery, just the three of us, and mourn our little girl on her birthday. I wanted to celebrate her, just as we would have done if she were here to celebrate with us. And it truly was a celebration. Of Abby. Of family. Of life. We are truly blessed.