Friday, 14 January 2011


Darling Friends

I cannot explain why but some of you invoke laughter and calmness in me, while others just make me want to cry. I suppose, if I look at it logically, I know the answers. If you are unfortunate enough to have been part of my potential baby club, I find it hard.
You represent everything I should have, everything I should be doing.
I love you all so much, and I thought I was strong enough to deal with the Grand Canyon that has dropped between all of us.
I know you have lost something too. I am here, but I’m not the friend you once had. I can’t try to want to talk about that stuff anymore, and when I look back, it makes me realise how much time we spent dreaming, imagining, living in the misty future.
Today, you are able to easily click the handle of your car seat, you have the knack with the baby blanket, and my hands are desperate to get in there. I want to know the ropes too, have ease around my baby – and all I can do is stare. I know your baby has lost a friend too. The little ones don’t understand it yet, and perhaps they never will, because by the time playing in the sand surfaces there will hopefully be another baby in the mix.
My baby.
And your's won’t know the difference. How awful because Bear would have been a brilliant companion. Sure, he may have been grumpy, but who can resist those downturned lips?
Other friends, maybe ones with more self-assurance, possibly because they did not share my (now tragic) baby hopes, they are able to make me laugh. In the main, I do not want to laugh. I certainly don’t crack easily. But still, some friends are able to inhabit that tiny territory between grief, normalcy and dignity. To you, I take off my hat.
Thank you for being brave, for taking us to somewhere less pitiful. You probably don’t even know that you’re doing it.
Teary friends, laughing friends, the ones who don’t know what to say, the others who say too much, you are all wonderful. We need you. We love you, but sometimes we can’t let you in easily. Stop bringing us food, and give us patience.
We’ve changed as people and our friendships will never be the same. Better, hopefully one day, but never the same.
Stay close, even if we push you away. Please.

1 comment:

  1. "Stop bringing us food, and give us patience" - Yes. I find the food thing fascinating. I think people want to fulfil your needs somehow. Fill the void as if it were a stomach.