It’s a little bit about our infertility and why we decided not to foster or adopt.
And it’s a lot about a seriously damaged friendship.
I moved to Pennsylvania twenty years ago for a relationship that didn’t last, and I’ve stayed for eighteen of those years because of a relationship that did. Like many places, this part of the world isn’t particularly warm and fuzzy toward newcomers—they’re not rude, but they don’t welcome you into their homes and lives either. Six months after I arrived, I made friends with a coworker around my age. She’s funny and outgoing, and we were both in negative relationships. For whatever reason, we had things in common and were instant friends. My relationship ended, and hers lasted, but we stayed friends through my second wedding, the birth of her children, my mother’s death, her two husbands, and many career changes. During the ensuing years, we made time to be friends even though our lives became very different.
So last spring, when we were discussing her fears about her new teaching career, I was caught off guard when she suddenly told me how she’d been discussing with someone I has met a few times that I am a teacher without kids at home. And they’d decided it was strange and weird. They had concluded my husband and I should “just adopt” or foster to fix this problem.
Now, she knows we’d tried to have kids of our own for years, and for some reason, I didn’t get pregnant, at least for very long. We were tested and told everything was okay—it just didn’t happen. Month after month, I felt like a failure, hoping in vain that I would someday be able to play the song I’d picked out (Creed’s “Arms Wide Open”), while serving his favorite foods (banana pudding for dessert) and telling him the good news.
We elected not to do in vitro, and as older parents (I’m in my 40’s and my husband in his mid-50’s) we knew the odds of a healthy infant adoption were slim. We talked about adopting a special needs child, but decided we both enjoy and feel productive in our careers too much to make the life changes necessary. We talked seriously about fostering, and about that time I had a foster child in class who hated me and liked to set fires. While he was an extreme case, after talking it over, we decided it was too much for me to deal with those kinds of issues at school and at home.
Eventually, we were able to look at our little family, the two of us and our dog, and our extended family with seven nieces and nephews, and older parents who need attention, and realize we have a great life even without our own kids. If you’ve walked any part of this journey, you know it’s not easy to come to that conclusion.
She knew all this, and still thought it appropriate to discuss my life, judge it as wrong, and tell me I should, “Just adopt.”
At first, I was in shock, and didn’t know how to react. I tried to chalk it up to her oversharing tendencies, and not to take it personally.
And I failed.
She is one of those moms who believes that if someone doesn’t have kids, they have all the time and money in the world. She’s not the only friend who behaves that way—women are really tough on each other—so I’ve become used to deflecting those comments.
But I just couldn’t—can’t—put the bigger issue aside. I wanted to be a mom, badly, and I’m not going to be a mom, except to furry creatures. In high school, I wanted six kids.
We did talk about that breach of trust and I told her how hurt I was. She agreed it was inappropriate, and a series of texts and Facebook posts occurred, all proclaiming the greatness of our friendship and how she didn’t want to lose it.
So I’ve tried to be willing to talk, and spend time together. But the trust we had for more than fifteen years is gone, and I find myself annoyed at comments and behaviors that wouldn’t have bothered me so much in the past.
Fortunately, I’m lucky enough to have an awesome sister, a great coworker, and three best friends from college, so I still have girlfriends in my life.
I guess it’s true that some friends come and go from ours lives when they are needed. It’s just hard to say goodbye when it’s time.