My Friend

So, I have this friend.  She is a close friend.  She has been by my side through all of my everythings in the last 7 years.  I met her five months before my dad died, so she has seen me through numerous losses and heartbreaks and has proven her loyalty and friendship time and time again.  She has always been a good listener, inspired me with hope when I needed it most, been my cheerleader when I didn’t always know I needed it at all and equally important, celebrated and basked in all of my successes and overcoming of substantial hurdles.  What am I trying to say is that she is a friend that is always there for me.  Even when it is hard for her to be.  Which sometimes I know it is.  She has been through a lot too.   She has been battling infertility issues and attempting to have a child for the past four years.  Unsuccessfully.  And when I say battling, I don’t use that term lightly.  She is a fighter, that is for sure.

So, the other day we were chatting, catching up, checking in with each other.  I began mindlessly ranting about all of the things that I have been going through lately.  The last couple of weeks have been a little ragged.   I have been having chronic headaches and headaches scare the crap out of me.  I had exactly two symptoms, two possible indicators the last two weeks before I lost my infant son just four short hours after delivery that something horrible was about to come. Of course I didn’t know that at the time.   And these two symptoms were horrible headaches and a low grade fever.  And these two symptoms, combined with a pathology report indicating possible infection in my child and myself showing signs of infection just hours post c-section make my head swirl.  And anytime in my pregnancy with Abigail that I had a fever (thankfully never combined with headaches), I rushed myself to my family doctor and insisted on blood work to rule out infection.  Yes, a little nut-so, but the reality was that these visits served to hold the crazy at bay, so it kind of worked for me.  Therefore in the past weeks when I have had headaches (thankfully not with fevers), I have not only been completely uncomfortable physically, I have allowed a little crazy to creep back into my mind.  The what-ifs are somewhat anxiety-producing and so I have just needed to rant, to vent, to put it out there, so that my mind doesn’t consume this crazy all by itself and I can allow it to disperse itself a bit.  And as I was releasing these whackos to my friend, and as she sat there and listened whole-heartedly as she always does, I saw them.  I saw the tears well up in her eyes.  I saw the tears well up in her eyes and I instantly knew that I had been so consumed with myself and my fears and my needs that I had not once thought about how she was feeling, what she has been going through, where she is right now.  And I stopped, and we cried together for a moment, and she told me her recent story and then she said we had to change the subject, she had to go to a meeting.  Tell her something funny.  Oh, I had a funny story.  So I shared a recent story about Abigail and a Reds game and a tantrum.  And while I was telling this story, I once again realized my selfishness, I realized exactly what I was doing, I realized my extreme insensitivity to my friend’s struggles.  I was telling her a story about my child.  The one thing she has been dying to have.  The one thing she has always wanted.  The one thing I have that she doesn’t.  And that’s how I tried to cheer her up?  Ugh.  I instantly realized that in that very moment, I was now that nurse practitioner, I was now that fellow bridesmaid, I was now that well-intentioned friend that truly has no idea what her friend is feeling, has been through or what she is continuously fighting on a daily basis.  Damn me.  How could I be so insensitive?  How could I be so unaware?  How could I be so self-absorbed?

The reality is that there are times when I think I know what she is going through, when I think I understand her pain.  There are times when I think that although she has had difficulty conceiving, my pains have been worse, my struggles have been more intense.  I have lost a child.  I have held my child and watched him breathe his last breath in my arms.  I have an autopsy report of my first child in my file cabinet for God’s sake.  But here I am pregnant again.  So I also carry hope inside me.  And although I don’t yet know the outcome of this pregnancy, I am in a place that she has never been able to experience.  I hold a dream inside me that she is yearning for the opportunity to have.  I have pain, I have fear, I have crazy, but I also hold hope, dreams and a potential that she is not sure she will ever be able to experience.  And even though I have loved and have lost, she has never had the opportunity to love at all.  Even if it was for nine months and four short hours, it was still an opportunity, it was still an experience, it was still a moment of being a mother and having a child to call my own.  And of course, I have Abigail.  And I know how truly lucky I am to have her and to hold her and to love her every day.  I am so damn lucky.  And no matter what happens with this pregnancy, no matter what becomes of these headaches, or if I develop a fever or if infection or some other demon decides to settle itself inside me and take another one of my babies, I still have this amazing, incredible, soulfully brilliant child.  My friend does not have this to fall back on.  She doesn’t have the option to say she has experienced motherhood and if this is all she is meant to have than it is enough.  It is in this moment that I realize how fortunate I am, how blessed I have been and how my struggles have also been my joys.  Joys that some, including my friend, have never had the opportunity to experience.  Yet. 

If you know me very well, you know that I am a much better talker than I am a listener (I mean, I can TALK, if my post lengths are any indication…).  I adore my friendships and value them immensely, but listening has always been my biggest challenge.  I have always admired those who have the ability to listen well, because I think it is a skill that few have mastered.  I know only a handful people who do it well, but those people are the ones whose friendships I have always come to cherish the most, said friend included.  My dad was an incredible listener, commenting on every thought that came out of my head, hanging on every word that I uttered out of my mouth.  I always felt so special and important when I was in his presence.  I know he didn’t always have this skill and that he developed it sometime later in life, so I’m holding out hope that there is hope for me still.  I want to be a better listener, I want to be a better friend, and overall, I just want to be a better person to other people.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m horrible.  I try to be as kind as I can be, I love to do for others, and I feel compassion is a strong suit of mine.  But I also know that I can be very self-consumed (hello, I’m writing a blog about myself, how much more self-consumed does it get?!).  I can let myself believe that my struggles are the hardest, my times are the toughest, what I am going through is the roughest and of course, the reality is that none of those things are true.  Everyone suffers.  And many have much more suffering than I have every experienced.  My life is pretty darn good.  Of course I’m scared, I’m worried, I have ample amounts of anxiety for the months to come.  But don’t we all live that way to some extent?  One of my favorite songs by Ben Harper is “Better Way” where he sings,

Reality is sharp

It cuts at me like a knife

Everyone I know

Is in the fight of their life…

And as he is screaming these lyrics they resonate with me each and every time.  We all have our shit.  Different shit on different days, and some people most certainly seem to have more than their fair share.  But we all struggle, we all have challenges and we all need someone to listen to us, someone to hear us, someone to understand us.  At least, I know I do, and I know that’s why I blog.  No matter how self-serving it is.  But I’m so grateful for my friend, for all of my friends, who are there to listen, who are there to hold me up when times are tough, who are there to remind me of my dreams, my spirit and my fight that is sometimes hard to find.  I hope I am that friend to others too.  I hope I serve to inspire, console, and celebrate my friends in the ways that they have done for me, especially this friend that I speak of today.  I have talked to my friend since this moment, have shared these sentiments with her in person, apologized for my insensitivities and self-consumed rambling (and asked her permission to write this post).  And I hope that I have learned some valuable lessons in this heart-wrenching, tear-jerking experience.  I have already said that I would like to be a better listener and I would like to be a better friend.  But I also hope I have realized that even when people do or say something that seems insensitive to me, that their intentions are not always bad, they may just be a product of our society that promotes the concept of “me”, that encourages autonomy and individuality, that promotes self-indulgence.  I hope I can be more understanding and more forgiving.  I hope I can realize they may just be consumed with what they consider is the fight of their life, and I can most certainly relate to this kind of consumption.  And I hope we all just keep fighting for our dreams, and listening with our hearts, and learning from those we love…  And I will end with the remainder of the lyrics from the song mentioned above, the lyrics that really resonate with me, the part of the song that serves to hold me up just as my friends do on days when I need it the most….

Take your face out of your hands

And clear your eyes

You have a right to your dreams

And don’t be denied

I believe in a better way.

                                                                        -Ben Harper, Better Way