Friends

Riding on a train of thought stolen from Still Life with Circles.

I've never had masses of friends.
Certainly not friends like those famous 'Friends' on the 90s sitcom, who flit in and out of one another's' apartments and seem so at ease with sharing every aspect of their lives.
Perhaps those sorts of friendships only exist in sitcoms?
Or perhaps the fact that I don't have friends like Monica and Phoebe is attributable to some lack in myself?

But I had friends.

If I could talk to them all now, I would like to say the following.

Hey there friends and acquaintances,

It's been a while.

Some of you have known me since I was a little girl. We used to go to playgroup together. Our mothers were friends. We shared sandboxes and bad haircuts and fought over who would have the red penguin biscuit.

Some of you I met when I was older. An awkward thirteen year old. We agonised over the size of our thighs together. We spent hours closeted in your bedroom or my bedroom. (Our friend's bedrooms. Strange that when you are a child, it is acceptable to hang out in bedrooms. A place that is generally closed off to all but the most intimate of adult friends.)

Some of you I only met at college. When I had shocking blond hair and unsuitable boyfriend(s). When I used to go out every night. When I was pretending to be someone that I'm not because I didn't know who to be.

Some of you I met at university or at work. I'm quiet. I work pretty hard, I drink Diet Coke obsessively, I fiddle with my hair a lot. You might not have noticed me initially or found me aloof. But I hope we got to be friends.

You might have noticed that I'm not around. Even if you can see me. Even if you are sitting right next to me, I might not necessarily be there. With you. Paying attention to you. Listening to what you are telling me.

But something awful happened to me.
Something sad.
My daughter died.
Yes, I know it was a while ago now.

Some of you have probably noticed that I have a little girl. You'll have noticed her in the photographs on my fac.ebook page. She's cute. Thanks for ticking the 'like' box on her pictures. I'm glad you think she's sweet. I do too.

If you don't know me that well and hadn't seen me in person during 2008, you probably don't know that she had a twin sister. I hadn't told that many people that I was pregnant, let alone expecting twins, because I was frightened that something would go wrong. I didn't comprehend how wrong something like this could go. Or how right.

If you aren't particularly interested in my life (and God knows why you would be) you will probably never wade through all my photos and spot the ones of a tiny, tiny baby. That's Jessica you see. Before she grew.

I just wanted to say how sorry I am.
When you didn't know what to say to me when you heard that my daughter had died at three days old.
When you didn't know what to say to me during all the time that Jessica was in hospital.
You see, I didn't know what to say either.
And we both ended up saying nothing. Silence.

I tried.

The first time you spoke to me after the 26th August 08, I probably tried to tell you about Georgina.
I didn't understand that perhaps it wasn't appropriate to bring her up.
I didn't understand that perhaps it made you feel uncomfortable or that talking about her frightened you.
I love her. I wanted to talk about her. She was a real person.

Please bear in mind that I had just spent three months sitting in intensive care, one month sitting in a special care nursery and four months nearly completely housebound with a baby who needed breathing support.
Please understand that the only people I spoke to during that time were my family, one very understanding friend, Jessica's nurses, social workers, counsellors and shrinks. Most of whom were either paid to listen to me rabbit on about Georgina or who could at least cope with her name being mentioned.

I also spent a lot of time on the Internet, reading at length accounts written by those parents who had found themselves in a similar situation. I could talk about her here, with these people. Our dead children are our main topic of conversation around these parts.

So perhaps it is understandable that my inhibitions got a bit hazy around the ages.

Imagine being the only drunk in a room full of sober people. That was me. Drunkenly rambling on and on about my dead daughter (figuratively speaking) whilst all you teetotallers watched in horror as I fell off my chair and landed in a pool of my own vomit. And still tried to carry on talking about Georgina with sick in my hair and an embarrassing slur.

No wonder you were frightened. No wonder that the thought of popping over to see Catherine, or just ringing up Catherine for a chat, didn't fill you with joy.
Didn't have you rushing to jump in the car or diving in your handbag for your mobile. I understand.

I found it very hard to forgive those of you who only re-emerged when it became obvious that Jessica would live, 'when the good news trumped the bad.' I know they followed hard on one another's heels in real terms, what's a few months between friends after all?
But those months were so long. So very long. And I felt so lonely.

I'm sorry. I tried to pretend that none of this had ever happened to me.
But it just won't wash. I can't do it. I only wish I could.

And to some of you, I owe an apology.
A huge apology.
I saw you go through horrible experiences and tough times.
I thought I was there for you, I believed I was a good friend.
I didn't disappear entirely but my idea of being a friend was pretty much the most insipid, spineless imitation of a human being ever. Gutless. Useless. Second only to running away entirely.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was such a bad friend to you when you needed me. Please forgive me. Especially those of you who have been such a support to me. And strangely it is those of you that I feel I have most wronged who have been the most comfort to me during the past year and a half.

Perhaps when your own security blanket has been ripped away from you and you have learnt to stand the cold without it, you can respond better to those of us who are still wailing on the ground like little children, banging our heels on the floor and wanting that comforting warmth wrapped back around us?

The rest of you. I hope and pray that when something shitty happens to you, when you are diagnosed with cancer, or in a car accident, or your spouse dies, or when one of your children dies (and I'm afraid to say that these things can, in fact, happen to the likes of you and me) I hope and pray that I won't be one of those who fades away. Even if you don't particularly want me there. I hope you will know that I AM there. That I will say something. Even if I can only manage 'I'm sorry.'

I'm sorry we don't talk anymore.
I'm sorry that we don't get together anymore for drinks, or for food, or a movie.
I'm sorry you haven't had a chance to get to know Jessica, she's a really fun little person.

I'm sorry that I didn't handle it well. But I didn't know how to.
Nobody gets a trial run at handling death and illness. They are always unique. And uniquely devastating. Every time.
You try your best.
I tried my best.
My best was lousy.
I'm sorry.

Maybe we'll catch up one of these days. See you around.

C