I started writing this post on 2/2/13, hence the title.
Trisha’s post yesterday came at the exact time I needed it, along with the comments that followed.
I received a letter from an old friend yesterday. It was not what I wanted. It came just as I was beginning to let go of what has lately been a rocky relationship.
That’s as far as I got.
It took me over a month and a conversation with my therapist before I responded to that letter. Some history:
D and I were good friends in college. We were both very involved in a Christian organization, lived together for a while, and could spend all day together doing essentially nothing but having a good time all the same. We became even closer after her mom suddenly died in a car accident. Then I went off to grad school, and the following things happened:
I finished a master’s degree. She never finished her bachelor’s.
I was her maid of honor. She never showed up for my wedding.
I moved. She visited me twice. Ever. I visited her once or twice a year.
I started my career. She and her husband continued to live paycheck to paycheck, barely scraping by.
She gained weight, and her health deteriorated, made better only when she became pregnant.
She had a baby, and Hubby and I still waited.
Her child started kindergarten, and Hubby and I still waited.
When my mom passed away, she didn’t even have a phone. I didn’t tell her about it until I’d been home from the funeral for a week or two.
Every time I talked to her about our fertility woes, she offered to be a surrogate. So not helpful.
So I was seriously fine with our friendship naturally fading with time and long stretches of not seeing each other. We had developed a pattern where she insisted she would come visit me or call me on a specific day, based on her son’s sleep schedule, and it wouldn’t happen. Then she’d apologize. Say she wished things were different. Make more empty promises, and start the cycle all over again. Our friendship had become like one of her all-time favorite movies, Groundhog Day. She was Bill Murray, living the same day again and again, never quite catching on that there was a point to his getting second, third, and eleventh chances. Which would make me Andie MacDowell, ever disappointed by his behavior. Except we hadn’t gotten to February 3rd yet.
Then I got that stupid letter in the mail. In which she went on and on about how god wanted me to be a mother.
And it pissed me off.
I wanted to yell at her. I wanted to scream at her that we hadn’t really been friends for a long time, and here she was throwing god in my face, just more proof that she didn’t know me at all.
But I didn’t do that. I wrote a well-thought-out letter that my therapist described as “brave,” telling her how I felt about her letter, our friendship, or lack thereof, and her lack of support during the time I most needed someone to lean on. I took my share of the blame, but I told her we’d never be like we were in college.
She called while my family was here, and I texted her that I couldn’t talk but would give her a call that weekend. That was the weekend of the negative beta, so I didn’t get around to calling then. I eventually texted her telling her that our IVF hadn’t worked and I wasn’t in a good place to talk about it yet. She texted back saying that she understood and wasn’t mad at me about my letter but just wanted to talk sometime.
Which ended up being today. She called while Hubby and I were eating lunch. When I listened to her voicemail, I was already starting to feel on edge, but decided I had to call her because one of the things she mentioned was that her husband’s mother had passed away.
She did most of the talking. And crying. She told me that she’d been so sick and depressed for so long that she hadn’t really talked to anyone. Which was kind of a lie to start off with because she used to call me all the time and tell me how shitty she felt. She once again offered to be a surrogate for us. I told her for the hundredth time that that isn’t what we need. That what I really needed was someone to talk to, and she hadn’t been there for me. I told her I was willing to try to build our friendship back up if she was. She said she’d call me again next weekend. I told her I was sorry about her husband’s mom.
Which is when she decided to sneak in the fact that she’s pregnant. By saying that she was sorry too because they never even got a chance to tell his mom about it.
Fuck. My. Life.